“Ah,” said I, as I walked on, “what a mistake in Delia Floyd!  She is just as capable of high development as a woman as he is as a man.  How admirably would they have mated.  In him, self-reliance, reason, judgment, and deep feeling would have found in her all the qualities they seek—­taste, perception, tenderness and love.  They would have grown upwards into higher ideas of life, not downwards into sensualism and mere worldliness, like the many.  Alas!  This mistake on her part may ruin them both; for a man of deep, reserved feelings, who suffers a disappointment in love, is often warped in his appreciation of the sex, and grows one-sided in his character as he advances through the cycles of life.

I had parted from Henry only a few minutes when I met his rival, Ralph Dewey.  Let me describe him.  In person he was taller than Wallingford, and had the easy, confident manner of one who had seen the world, as we say.  His face was called handsome; but it was not a manly face—­manly in that best sense which includes character and thought.  The chin and mouth were feeble, and the forehead narrow, throwing the small orbs close together.  But he had a fresh complexion, dark, sprightly eyes, and a winning smile.  His voice was not very good, having in it a kind of unpleasant rattle; but he managed it rather skillfully in conversation, and you soon, ceased to notice the peculiarity.

Ralph lived in New York, where he had recently been advanced to the position of fourth partner in a dry goods jobbing house, with a small percentage on the net profits.  Judging from the air with which he spoke of his firm’s operations, and his relation to the business, you might have inferred that he was senior instead of junior partner, and that the whole weight of the concern rested on his shoulders.

Judge Bigelow, a solid man, and from professional habit skilled in reading character, was, singularly enough, quite carried away with his smart nephew, and really believed his report of himself.  Prospectively, he saw him a merchant prince, surrounded by palatial splendors.

Our acquaintance was as yet but slight, so we only nodded in passing.  As we were in the neighborhood of Squire Floyd’s pleasant cottage, I was naturally curious, under the circumstances, to see whether the young man was going to make a visit at so early an hour; and I managed to keep long enough in sight to have this matter determined.  Ralph called at the Squire’s, and I saw him admitted.  So I shook my head disapprovingly, and kept on my way.

Not until late in the afternoon did I find occasion to go into that part of the town where the old Allen house was located, though the image of its gleaming north-west windows was frequently in my thought.  The surprise occasioned by that incident was in no way lessened on seeing a carriage drive in through the gateway, and two ladies alight therefrom and enter the house.  Both were in mourning.  I did not see their faces; but, judging from the dress and