“He hasn’t said anything, but I read about it in the papers.  Is it so very important that it should be passed?”

“Saving money is always important, my dear,” said Armorer, seriously.

The horses turned again.  They were now opposite a fair lawn and a house of wood and stone built after the old colonial pattern, as modern architects see it.  Esther pointed, saying: 

“Aunt Meg’s, papa; isn’t it pretty?”

“Very handsome, very fine,” said the financier, who knew nothing about architecture, except its exceeding expense.  “Esther, I’ve a notion; if that young man of yours has brains and is fond of you he ought to be able to get my ordinance through his little eight by ten city council.  There is our chance to see what stuff he is made of!”

“Oh, he has a great deal of influence,” said Esther; “he can do it, unless—­unless he thinks the ordinance would be bad for the city, you know.”

“Confound the modern way of educating girls!” thought Armorer.  “Now, it would have been enough for Esther’s mother to know that anything was for my interests; it wouldn’t have to help all out-doors, too!”

But instead of enlarging on this point, he went into a sketch of the improvements the road could make with the money saved by the change, and was waxing eloquent when a lady of a pleasant and comely face, and a trig though not slender figure, advanced to greet them.

It was after breakfast (and the scene was the neat pig’s pen, where Armorer was displaying his ignorance of swine) that he found his first chance to talk with his sister alone.  “Oh, first, Sis,” said he, “about your birthday, to-day; I telegraphed to Tiffany’s for that silver service, you know, that you liked, so you needn’t think there’s a mistake when it comes.”

“Oh, ’Raish, that gorgeous thing!  I must kiss you, if Daniel does see me!”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Armorer, hastily, and began to talk of the pig.  Suddenly, without looking up, he dropped into the pig-pen the remark:  “I’m very much obliged to you for writing me, Meg.”

“I don’t know whether to feel more like a virtuous sister or a villanous aunt,” sighed Mrs. Ellis; “things seemed to be getting on so rapidly that it didn’t seem right, Esther visiting me and all, not to give you a hint; still, I am sure that nothing has been said, and it is horrid for Esther, perfectly HORRID, discussing her proposals that haven’t been proposed!”

“I don’t want them ever to be proposed,” said Armorer, gloomily.

“I know you always said you didn’t want Esther to marry; but I thought if she fell in love with the right man—­we know that marriage is a very happy estate, sometimes, Horatio!” She sighed again.  In her case it was only the memory of happiness, for Colonel Ellis had been dead these twelve years; but his widow mourned him still.