Mrs. Carroll glanced at Debby, and as that young lady was regarding Mr. Joe with a friendly aspect, owing to the warmth of his words, she graciously assented, and the youth departed on his errand.  Mr. Evan went through the ceremony with a calmness wonderful to behold, considering the position of one lady and the charms of the other, and soon glided into the conversation with the ease of a more accomplished courtier.

“Now I must tear myself away, for I’m engaged to that stout Miss Bandoline for this dance.  She ’s a friend of my sister’s, and I must do the civil, you know; powerful slow work it is, too, but I pity the poor soul,—­upon my life, I do”; and Mr. Joe assumed the air of a martyr.

Debby looked up with a wicked smile in her eyes, as she said,—­

“Ah, that sounds very amiable here; but in five minutes you’ll be murmuring in Miss Bandoline’s ear,—­’I’ve been pining to come to you this half hour, but I was obliged to take out that Miss Wilder, you see,—­countrified little thing enough, but not bad-looking, and has a rich aunt; so I’ve done my duty to her, but deuse take me if I can stand it any longer.’”

Mr. Evan joined in Debby’s merriment; but Mr. Joe was so appalled at the sudden attack that he could only stammer a remonstrance and beat a hasty retreat, wondering how on earth she came to know that his favorite style of making himself agreeable to one young lady was by decrying another.

“Dora, my love, that is very rude, and ‘Deuse’ is not a proper expression for a woman’s lips.  Pray, restrain your lively tongue, for strangers may not understand that it is nothing but the sprightliness of your disposition which sometimes runs away with you.”

“It was only a quotation, and I thought you would admire anything Mr. Leavenworth said, Aunt Pen,” replied Debby, demurely.

Mrs. Carroll trod on her foot, and abruptly changed the conversation, by saying, with an appearance of deep interest,—­

“Mr. Evan, you are doubtless connected with the Malcoms of Georgia; for they, I believe, are descended from the ancient Evans of Scotland.  They are a very wealthy and aristocratic family, and I remember seeing their coat-of-arms once:  three bannocks and a thistle.”

Mr. Evan had been standing before them with a composure which impressed Mrs. Carroll with a belief in his gentle blood, for she remembered her own fussy, plebeian husband, whose fortune had never been able to purchase him the manners of a gentleman.  Mr. Evan only grew a little more erect, as he replied, with an untroubled mien,—­

“I cannot claim relationship with the Malcoms of Georgia or the Evans of Scotland, I believe, Madam.  My father was a farmer, my grandfather a blacksmith, and beyond that my ancestors may have been street-sweepers, for anything I know; but whatever they were, I fancy they were honest men, for that has always been our boast, though, like President Jackson’s, our coat-of-arms is nothing but ‘a pair of shirt-sleeves.’”