“But I thought that you had positively refused him, Kitty?”

“Of course I did mamma—­I told him in the nicest kind of way that we must only be dear friends, and so on.”

“Then why did he send these tickets?”

“Why do moths fly round a candle?  It is my opinion both moths and men enjoy burning.”

“Well, Kitty, I don’t pretend to understand this new-fashioned way of being ‘off’ and ‘on’ with a lover at the same time.  Did you take me from papa simply to tell me this?”

“No; I thought perhaps you might like to devote a few moments to papa’s daughter.  Papa has no hair to crimp and no braids to make.  Here are all the hair-pins ready, mamma, and I will tell you about Sarah Cooper’s engagement and the ridiculous new dress she is getting.”

It is to be supposed the bribe proved attractive enough, for Mrs. Duffan took in hand the long tresses, and Kitty rattled away about wedding dresses and traveling suits and bridal gifts with as much interest as if they were the genuine news of life, and newspaper intelligence a kind of grown-up fairy lore.

But anyone who saw the hair taken out of crimps would have said it was worth the trouble of putting it in; and the face was worth the hair, and the hair was worth the exquisite hat and the rich seal-skins and the tantalizing effects of glancing silk and beautiful colors.  Depend upon it, Kitty Duffan was just as bright and bewitching a life-sized picture as anyone could desire to see; and Tom Duff an thought so, as she tripped up to the great chair in which he was smoking and planning subjects, for a “good-by” kiss.

“I declare, Kitty!  Turn round, will you?  Yes, I declare you are dressed in excellent taste.  All the effects are good.  I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“Complimentary, papa.  But ‘I told you so.’  You just quit the antique, and take to studying Harper’s Bazar for effects; then your women will look a little more natural.”

“Natural?  Jehoshaphat!  Go way, you little fraud!”

“I appeal to Jack.  Jack, just look at the women in that picture of papa’s, with the white sheets draped about them.  What do they look like?”

“Frights, Miss Kitty.”

“Of course they do.  Now, papa.”

“You two young barbarians!” shouted Tom, in a fit of laughter; for Jack and Kitty were out in the clear frosty air by this time, with the fresh wind at their backs, and their faces steadily set toward the busy bustle and light of Broadway.  They had not gone far when Jack said, anxiously, “You haven’t thought any better of your decision last Friday night, Kitty, I am afraid.”

“Why, no, Jack.  I don’t see how I can, unless you could become an Indian Commissioner or a clerk of the Treasury, or something of that kind.  You know I won’t marry a literary man under any possible circumstances.  I’m clear on that subject, Jack.”

“I know all about farming, Kitty, if that would do.”