“One more!” repeated her sister, breathless.

“Well, I didn’t come here to be scolded,” said Minnie, rising, “and I’ll go.  But I hoped that you’d help me; and I think you’re very unkind; and I wouldn’t treat you so.”

“No, no, Minnie,” said Mrs. Willoughby, rising, and putting her arm round her sister, and drawing her back.  “I had no idea of scolding.  I never scolded any one in my life, and wouldn’t speak a cross word to you for the world.  Sit down now, Minnie darling, and tell me all.  What about the American?  I won’t express any more astonishment, no matter what I may feel.”

“But you mustn’t feel any astonishment,” insisted Minnie.

“Well, darling, I won’t,” said her sister.

Minnie gave a sigh.

“It was last year, you know, in the spring.  Papa and I were going out to Montreal, to bring you home.  You remember?”

Mrs. Willoughby nodded, while a sad expression came over her face.

“And, you remember, the steamer was wrecked.”

“Yes.”

“But I never told you how my life was saved.”

“Why, yes, you did.  Didn’t papa tell all about the heroic sailor who swam ashore with you? how he was frantic about you, having been swept away by a wave from you? and how he fainted away with joy when you were brought to him?  How can you suppose I would forget that?  And then how papa tried to find the noble sailor to reward him.”

“Oh yes,” said Minnie, in a despondent tone.  “That’s all very true; but he wasn’t a noble sailor at all.”

“What!”

“You see, he wasn’t going to have a scene with papa, and so he kept out of his way.  Oh dear, how I wish he’d been as considerate with me!  But that’s the way always; yes, always.”

“Well, who was he?”

“Why, he was an American gentleman, returning home from a tour in Europe.  He saved me, as you have heard.  I really don’t remember much about it, only there was a terrible rush of water, and a strong arm seized me, and I thought it was papa all the time.  And I found myself carried, I don’t know how, through the waves, and then I fainted; and I really don’t know any thing about it except papa’s story.”

Mrs. Willoughby looked at Minnie in silence, but said nothing.

“And then, you know, he traveled with us, and papa thought he was one of the passengers, and was civil; and so he used to talk to me, and at last, at Montreal, he used to call on me.”

“Where?”

“At your house, dearest.”

“Why, how was that?”

“You could not leave your room, darling, so I used to go down.”

“Oh, Minnie!”

“And he proposed to me there.”

“Where? in my parlor?”

“Yes; in your parlor, dearest.”

“I suppose it’s not necessary for me to ask what you said.”

“I suppose not,” said Minnie, in a sweet voice.  “He was so grand and so strong, and he never made any allusions to the wreck; and it was—­the—­the—­very first time that any body ever—­proposed; and so, you know, I didn’t know how to take it, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, and I couldn’t deny that he had saved my life; and I don’t know when I ever was so confused.  It’s awful, Kitty darling.