“It would not surprise me, Clarence Augustus,” she responded, regarding him with a proud, fond smile, “I fancy he must be aware that there’s no better match in the Union.  But you have no time to lose, they may leave here any day.”

“True, but what’s to hinder us from following?  However, I will take your advice, and lose no time.  Let me borrow your writing desk for a moment.  I’ll ask her to drive with me this morning, and while we’re out secure her company for the boating party that’s to come off to-morrow.”

A few moments later the younger Elsie came into her mother’s room with a note written in a manly hand, on delicately perfumed and tinted French paper.

“What shall I do about it, mamma?” she asked.  “Will you answer it for me.  Of course you know I do not wish to accept.”

“I will, daughter,” Mrs. Travilla said, “though if he were such a man as I could receive into my family on friendly terms, I should prefer to have you answer it yourself.”

Mr. Faude’s very handsome carriage and horses were at the door, a liveried servant holding the reins, while the gentleman himself waited in the parlor for the coming of the young lady, who, he doubted not, would be well pleased to accept his invitation.  He was not kept waiting long; had, indeed, scarcely seated himself and taken up the morning paper, when Mr. Travilla’s Ben appeared with a note, presented it in grave silence, and with a respectful bow, withdrew.

“Hold on!  It may require an answer,” Mr. Faude called after him.

“No, sah; Mrs. Travilla say dere’s no answer,” returned Ben, looking back for an instant from the doorway, then vanishing through it.

“All right!” muttered Clarence Augustus, opening the missive and glancing over the contents; an angry flush suffusing his face, as he read.

“What is it?  She hasn’t declined, surely?” Mrs. Faude asked in an undertone, close at his side.

“Just that; it’s from the mother; thanks me for the invitation, but respectfully declines; not even vouchsafing a shadow of an excuse.  What can it mean?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure.  But if they knew you had serious intentions—­it might make a difference.”

“Possibly.  I’ll soon bring it to the proof.”

He rose and went out in search of Mr. Travilla, found him alone, and at once asked his permission to pay his addresses to Elsie.

The request was courteously, but decidedly and firmly refused.

“May I ask why?” queried the young man in anger and astonishment.

“Because, sir, it would not be agreeable to either my daughter herself, to her mother or to me.”

“Then I must say, sir, that you are all three hard to please.  But pray, sir, what is the objection?”

“Do you insist upon knowing?”

“I do, sir.”

“Then let me answer your query with another.  Would you pay your addresses to a young woman—­however wealthy, beautiful or high-born—­whose moral character was not better, whose life had been no purer than your own?”