“No,” replied Alfred, mollified and bewildered.  He rallied in a moment.  “What sort of man do girls fall in love with, Miss Fanny?”

Fanny Newt was perfectly silent.  She looked down upon the floor of the piazza, fixing her eyes upon a pine-knot, patiently waiting, and wondering which way the grain of the wood ran.

The silence continued.  Every moment Alfred was conscious of an increasing nervousness.  There were the Junonine shoulders—­the neck—­the downcast eyes—­moonlight—­the softened music.

“Why don’t you answer?” asked he, at length.

Fanny bent her head nearer to him, and dropped these words into his waistcoat: 

“How good you are!  I am so happy!”

“What on earth have I done?” was the perplexed, and pleased, and ridiculous reply.

“Mr. Dinks, how could I answer the question you asked without betraying—?”

“What?” inquired Alfred, earnestly.

“Without betraying what sort of man I love,” breathed Fanny, in the lowest possible tone, which could be also perfectly distinct, and with her head apparently upon the point of dropping after her words into his waistcoat.

“Well?” said Dinks.

“Well, I can not do that, but I will make a bargain with you.  If you will say what sort of girl you would love, I will answer your question.”

Fanny dreaded to hear a description of Hope Wayne.  But Alfred’s mind was resolved.  The foolish youth answered with his heart in his mouth, and barely whispering,

“If you will look in your glass to-night, you will see.”

The next moment Fanny’s head had fallen into the waistcoat—­Alfred Dinks’s arms were embracing her.  He perceived the perfume from her abundant hair.  He was frightened, and excited, and pleased.

“Dear Alfred!”

“Dear Fanny!”

“Come Hope, dear, it is very late,” said Mrs. Dinks in the ball-room, alarmed at the long absence of Fanny and Alfred, and resolved to investigate the reason of it.

The lovers heard the voice, and were sitting quietly just a little apart, as Mrs. Dinks and her retinue came out.

“Aren’t you afraid of taking cold, Miss Newt?” inquired Alfred’s mother.

“Oh not at all, thank you, I am very warm.  But you are very wise to go in, and I shall join you.  Good-night, Mr. Dinks.”  As she rose, she whispered—­“After breakfast.”

The ladies rustled along the piazza in the moonlight.  Alfred, flushed and nervous and happy, sauntered into the bar-room, lit a cigar, and drank some brandy and water.