John,—­putting down his book, and crossing to her, “Well, dear?”

Lillie.  “There, would you make a green leaf there, or a brown one?”

John,—­endeavoring to look wise, “Well, a brown one.”

Lillie.  “That’s just like you, John; now, don’t you see that a brown one would just spoil the effect?”

“Oh! would it?” said John, innocently.  “Well, what did you ask me for?”

“Why, you tiresome creature!  I wanted you to say something.  What are you sitting moping over a book for?  You don’t entertain me a bit.”

“Dear Lillie, I have been talking about every thing I could think of,” said John, apologetically.

“Well, I want you to keep on talking, and put up that great heavy book.  What is it, any way?”

“Lecky’s ‘History of Morals,’” said John.

“How dreadful! do you really mean to read it?”

“Certainly; we are all reading it.”

“Who all?”

“Why, Gracie, and Letitia and Rose Ferguson.”

“Rose Ferguson?  I don’t believe it.  Why, Rose isn’t twenty yet!  She cannot care about such stuff.”

“She does care, and enjoys it too,” said John, eagerly.

“It is a pity, then, you didn’t get her for a wife instead of me,” said Lillie, in a tone of pique.

Now, this sort of thing does well enough occasionally, said by a pretty woman, perfectly sure of her ground, in the early days of the honey-moon; but for steady domestic diet is not to be recommended.  Husbands get tired of swearing allegiance over and over; and John returned to his book quietly, without reply.  He did not like the suggestion; and he thought that it was in very poor taste.  Lillie embroidered in silence a few minutes, and then threw down her work pettishly.

“How close this room is!”

John read on.

“John, do open the door!”

John rose, opened the door, and returned to his book.

“Now, there’s that draft from the hall-window.  John, you’ll have to shut the door.”

John shut it, and read on.

“Oh, dear me!” said Lillie, throwing herself down with a portentous yawn.  “I do think this is dreadful!”

“What is dreadful?” said John, looking up.

“It is dreadful to be buried alive here in this gloomy town of Springdale, where there is nothing to see, and nowhere to go, and nothing going on.”

“We have always flattered ourselves that Springdale was a most attractive place,” said John.  “I don’t know of any place where there are more beautiful walks and rambles.”