Meantime Mrs. Carter, who had been greatly chagrined at the non-appearance of Mr. Hamilton the week before, was now confidently expecting him.  He had not yet asked her to be his wife, and the delay somewhat annoyed both herself and Lenora.

“I declare, mother,” said Lenora, “I should suppose you might contrive up something to bring matters to a focus.  I think it’s perfectly ridiculous to see two old crones, who ought to be trotting their grandchildren, cooing and simpering away at each other, and all for nothing, too.”

“Can’t you be easy awhile longer?” asked Mrs. Carter “hasn’t he said everything he can say except ‘will you marry me?’”

“A very important question, too,” returned Lenora; “and I don’t know what business you have to expect anything from him until it is asked.”

“Mr. Hamilton is proud,” answered Mrs. Carter—­“is afraid of doing anything which might possibly lower him.  Now, if by any means I could make him believe that I had received an offer from some one fully if not more than his equal, I think it would settle the matter, and I’ve decided upon the following plan.  I’ll write a proposal myself, sign old Judge B——­’s name to it, and next time Mr. Hamilton comes let him surprise me in reading it.  Then, as he is such a dear, long-tried friend, it will be quite proper for me to confide in him, and ask his advice.”

Lenora’s eyes opened wider, as she exclaimed, “My gracious! who but you would ever have thought of that.”

Accordingly the letter was written, sealed, directed, broken open, laughed over, and laid away in the stand drawer.

“Mr. Hamilton, mother,” said Lenora, as half an hour afterward she ushered that gentleman into the room.  But so wholly absorbed was the black bombazine and linen collar in the contents of an open letter, which she held in her hand, that the words were twice repeated—­“Mr. Hamilton, mother”—­ere she raised her eyes!  Then coming forward with well-feigned confusion, she apologized for not having observed him before, saying she was sure he would excuse her if he knew the contents of her letter.  Of course he wanted to know, and of course she didn’t want to tell.  He was too polite to urge her, and the conversation soon took another channel.

After a time Lenora left the room, and Mrs. Carter, again speaking of the letter, begged to make a confidant of Mr. Hamilton, and ask his advice.  He heard the letter read through, and after a moment’s silence asked, “Do you like him, Mrs. Carter?”

“Why—­no—­I don’t think I do,” said she, “but then the widow’s lot is so lonely.”