“Virginia, what do you think has happened to me?” cried Colonel Pinckney, bursting into his sister-in-law’s room, which he seldom invaded.  “Yesterday, as I came up the steps, I surprised Mr. Brown, who was offering himself—­bad English, poverty and all—­to Miss Featherstone.  This minute—­by George!—­I stumbled into the dining-room, and there is Doctor Harris going through the same performance.”

“Sit down and tell me all about it,” exclaimed Mrs. Pinckney, her curiosity overcoming her pique.

“Each time,” continued Colonel Pinckney, “the lover’s back was turned toward me, while I had a most distinct view of Miss Featherstone, who was blushing, hanging her head and looking as distressed as possible, poor little soul!”

“Why! won’t she accept the doctor?” said Mrs. Pinckney with animation.

“It didn’t look like it.  I couldn’t hear what he said, but his back had a hopeless expression.  Did you know that she came from one of the best families in Philadelphia, that most aristocratic of cities, and that they were very wealthy?  Her only brother was killed in the war, and she is the sole unfortunate survivor.”

“She might do many a worse thing than marry Doctor Harris:  he is well educated and a gentleman.”

“She could do a better thing, and that is to marry me,” exclaimed the colonel.  “I’m going to give her a chance, and will tell you the result immediately.  I wonder who’ll stumble in upon my wooing?” and with mirthful eyes he darted out of the room.

“I never knew a man so changed,” soliloquized Mrs. Pinckney.  “He used to be haughty and reserved:  now he talks a great deal, uses slang expressions and romps and plays with the children like any ordinary mortal.  One can never tell whether he is in earnest or not.  I don’t believe he’d have told me if he’d really meant to offer himself.”

A day or two afterward Miss Featherstone had occasion to go to town.  It was exceedingly inconvenient, for she was needed everywhere as usual, but gloves and boots must be replenished, even by impecunious heroines.  As she came down Colonel Pinckney handed her into the carriage and followed her.  She felt a little annoyed, but supposed he was driving only to the station:  however, he sent the coachman home, and when the cars came up he entered and took his seat beside her.

“You look depressed, Miss Featherstone:  I hope that my going to New York meets with your approbation?  I’ve been neglecting a thousand necessary matters, and the pleasure of your company to-day gave me the necessary incentive.”

He was so frank as to his motives that Miss Featherstone laid aside her reserve in a measure, and became communicative.  “Everything has changed, Colonel Pinckney,” she said with a sigh.  “Mrs. Pinckney has grown decidedly cool, and I think you have opened my eyes so that I don’t love her quite as much as I did.  I am sorry:  I should rather have been blind.  Then—­” She paused, feeling that her confidences must go no further.