She soon returned, and told him that Miss Grace, instead of being angry, as she expected, had smiled and looked pleased, and promised not to dance with Mr. Coventry nor any body else any more that night, “if he would go straight home and consult his beautiful mother.”  “Those were her words,” said the loyal Dence.  “She did say them twice over to make sure.”

“God bless her!” cried Henry, warmly; “and bless you too, my best friend.  I’ll go this moment.”

He cast a long, lingering look at the window, and went slowly down the street.

When he got home, his mother was still up and secretly anxious.

He sat down beside her, and told her where he had been and how it had all ended.  “I’m to consult my beautiful mother,” said he, kissing her.

“What, does she think I am like my picture now?”

“I suppose so.  And you are as beautiful as ever in my eyes, mother.  And I do consult you.”

Mrs. Little’s black eyes flashed; but she said, calmly,

“What about, dearest?”

“I really don’t know.  I suppose it was about what happened tonight.  Perhaps about it all.”

Mrs. Little leaned her head upon her hand and thought.

After a moment’s reflection, she said to Henry, rather coldly, “If she is not a very good girl, she must be a very clever one.”

“She is both,” said Henry, warmly.

“Of that I shall be the best judge,” said Mrs. Little, very coldly indeed.

Poor Henry felt quite chilled.  He said no more; nor did his mother return to the subject till they parted for the night, and then it was only to ask him what church Miss Carden went to—­a question that seemed to be rather frivolous, but he said he thought St. Margaret’s.

Next Sunday evening, Mrs. Little and he being at tea together, she said to him quietly—­“Well, Harry, I have seen her.”

“Oh mother! where?”

“At St. Margaret’s Church.”

“But how did you know her?  By her beauty?”

Mrs. Little smiled, and took a roll of paper out of her muff, that lay on the sofa.  She unfolded it, and displayed a drawing.  It represented Grace Carden in her bonnet, and was a very good likeness.

The lover bounced on it, and devoured it with astonishment and delight.

“Taken from the bust, and retouched from nature,” said Mrs. Little.  “Yes, dear, I went to St. Margaret’s, and asked a pew-opener where she sat.  I placed myself where I could command her features; and you may be sure, I read her very closely.  Well, dear, she bears examination.  It is a bright face, a handsome face, and a good face; and almost as much in love as you are.”

“What makes you fancy that?  Oh, you spoke to her?”