like a morning mist; and the facts came out distinctly.  They learned what kind of man and woman they actually were, and two idealized creatures were sent to limbo.  Because I don’t blunder upon the woman I wish to marry, but pick her out, that’s no reason I can’t and won’t love her.  Your analysis and judgment were correct only up to date.  You have now to meet a suit honestly, openly announced.  This may be bad policy on my part; yet I have so much faith in you and respect for you that I don’t believe you will let my precipitation create a prejudice.  Give me a fair hearing; that’s all I ask.”

“Well, well, I’ll promise not to frown, even though some finer paragon should throw me completely in the shade.”

“You don’t believe in my yet,” he resumed, after a moment of thought.  “I felt that I had blundered awfully a while ago; but I doubt it.  A girl of your perceptions would soon have seen it all.  I’ve not lost anything by being frank from the start.  Be just to me, however.  It wasn’t policy that led me to speak, but this homelike scene, and you appearing like the good genius of a home.”

He pulled out his watch, and gave a low whistle as he held it toward her.  Then his manner suddenly became grave and gentle.  “Carrie,” he said, “I wish you, not a merry Christmas, but a happy one, and many of them.  It seems to me it would be a great privilege for a man to make a woman like you happy.”

“Is this the beginning of the suit?” she asked with a laugh that was a little forced.

“I don’t know.  Perhaps it is; but I spoke just as I felt.  Good-night.”

She would not admit of a trace of sentiment on her part.  “Good-night,” she said.  “Merry Christmas!  Go home and hang up your stocking.”

“Bless me!” she thought, as she went slowly up the stairs, “I thought I was going to be through with him for good and all, except as a friend; but if he goes on this way—­”

The next morning a basket of superb roses was left at her home.  There was no card, and mamma queried and surmised; but the girl knew.  They were not displeasing to her, and somehow, before the day was over, they found their way to her room; but she shook her head decidedly as she said, “He must be careful not to send me other gifts, for I will return them instantly.  Flowers, in moderation, never commit a girl.”

But then came another gift—­a book with pencillings here and there, not against sentimental passages, but words that made her think.  It was his manner in society, however, that at once annoyed, perplexed, and pleased her.  On the first occasion they met in company with others, he made it clear to every one that he was her suitor; yet he was not a burr which she could not shake off.  He rather seconded all her efforts to have a good time with any and every one she chose.  Nor did he, wallflower fashion, mope in the meanwhile and look unutterable things.  He added to the pleasure of a score of