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Show I Kr t A SMOHT ffllSTflp. 1 j ! s' TWrAiailAaE Is the saving of n j i' t YJ young man," snid my Aunt T ' .. Tntbltha, fententiously. '! ,"l ' , 1 assented, for J uml it pays to give a f r ready acquiescence to abstract propesi yf', tlonri. ''P "You must marry," continued my ' ' ' i aunt. 1 hesitated, for the assent "to the concrete con-crete is more dangerous, j ' l "I um still very young," I said, meek-, iy. . ! My aunt turned to my mother. "Whom shall Alfred marry V" , My mother shook her head. "Somebody nice," who volunteered., "Wliat do you sny to Letitia JJrown,-low?" JJrown,-low?" asked my aunt. "1 would prefer to say nothing to "Letitln llrownlow," I interposed, hnsti- ' . iy. "Or Amelia StaffortliV" v x "Is she not rather" my mother j -waved one hand "and Alfred Is so ' . . Hlim." ' "1 think she has a very fine figure," responded my aunt. "Or there is Ger- , triule Williams; shu will ha u a fortune, Xj -if she outlives her sinters." -fE ' "There are only live of them," I said, 'm liopcfuli,'. ; !1. ,' "Or Mabel Gordon?" I "She has taken a course of looking m tj lessons," observed my mother. m "No, nonoof these!" I cried, decisive I " My aunt looked offended "Very well, then, choose foryour- i 1 self," she said, tartly. 1 1 I thought for a moment. i ! ."What do you say to Winifred Fra- f .scr?" I b'M "That minx?" cried my aunt. t "Oh, Alfred!" echoed my mother. 1 "Why not?" t asked. ) "Such a dreadful family!" said my i 'i mother. 1 8 "So fast!" interjected my aunt. ! ' ' "lut have you never noticed the sun I m on her hair?" I asked, innocently, tj m My aunt drew her&ctf up. ,. "We have not noticed the sun on her M t lutir," she said, with much dignity, VI " "nor do we wish to observe the sun on Cj her hair." 1 , I was justly annoyed. "I really think fiS 'a. 5t mist bo Winifred Frnser," I said. tfl "She is very fond of me-" h "How can you be so cruel to me!" TOB cried my mother. "Have you noticed 1 $r Show gray my hair,i getting? 'You will ill " "not have me long." She drew oat 1ft; JM handkerchief. ip "You will come to a bad end," said f jl my aunt. "1 always thought you were sfi depraved. If you marry that painted ,Ij hussy you must, not expect my eounte- i"ffl nance." 4,m "Under the circumstances I will not' I m marry Winifred Fraser," I said, with fli great magnanimity, for I did not par- S,,m tioulnrly want my aunt's countenance. ( 1 My aunt finilTed. "You had letter I not-" "I merely joked," I said, soothingly, 'i remembering she hnd not made her I 1 "Indeed!" U I "The truth is" I dropped my voice , J I "I am in love with some one else." 5 J )'And you never told me!" said my 1 mother, reproachfully. 1 "The girl t love is not free." f I "Married," cried my aunt. j I - . ,T "Not married but engaged." j ' ' "Who is it?" asked my mother, gen- I was silent for a moment, and then ,. -I sighed. "It is Constance Burleigh." j There was a momentary silence, broken by my aunt. " did not know Constance wa en- ' gaged." , 'lt is a secret; you nuutf. not reieat t what I have told you." "I don't like these secret engagements," engage-ments," said my aunt, brusquely. ' -"Who told you?" "She told me herself." I "Who is the man?" j 'l do not think I should repeat his name." , "L hope Constance is not throwing lieiyself away." T shook my head doubtfully "i a . . "You know the man?" .-v t i I nodded. i ' "lb lie quite quite ' " Aguin T Hhook my head doubtfully. ' "What have you heanl?" my aunt ' asked, eagerly. , ' "I don't think I ought to repcatthese I ' . V things." ' ' "You can surely trust your mother," f - murmured my mother. j "And my discretion," said my aunt. "Well." I said, " have been told ho ia cruel to his mptlier." "Really," cried the two ladles, in a fc .breath. . "His inotiier told me so herself." t ' "How sad," said my mother. "Another. relatlou''of his told me he i .. ,,,( wivh'prared.V.- k , - I . .-.. - ... -i..- . "1'oor, poor Constance," whispered my mother. "And .yould probably end badl3" "I espect he drinks," snid my nunt, grimly. "Does Constance know this?" asked my mother. i "I don't think so." "You dill not tell her?" , "' "Or course not." "1 cTklor it your duty to.' Trial!-,' cannot." "Then I will,' -said my auntreolutc iy. "What 1 have said has been in confidence." con-fidence." "1 do not care." "I bet you not to do so."1 "It i my duty, t am too fond of Constance to allow her to throw herself her-self away on this orthlcss man." I shrugged my shoulder". "Do as you pleaue. but don't mention my name. Bv the way, Constance said Vhe probably call this afternoon." At that moment the bell rang. "That may bo she," said my aunt, flying fly-ing to the window. "It is." I got up slowly and sauntered into the conjvr.s.pry, which adjoins the drawing-room. From behind a friendly palm I could see without being seen. 1 saw my aunt look toward my mother. "If we open her eyes," L heard her whisper, "it may pave the way for Alfred." '2y mother said nothing, but I saw the same hope shine from her cyc. The door opened and the servant announced an-nounced Constance. She eau.c forward with a little eager rush, then stopped fa hurt, embarnvssed by the want, of reciprocity. "We are glad to see you," said my mother, and kissed her. My aunt came forward. "We were just ppeal.ing Of you," Mie .'aid', solemnly. solemn-ly. "Sit down." Constance looked'a little crushed. "1 thought Alficdl would have told you," she murmured. "We hac heard" began my aunt. "Hush," interposed my mother. "Come nearer me, Con-stance. Won't you take off your hat ?" Constance came and- sat by her side. "I was anxious to come and tell you that that " "If you are alluding to your engagement," engage-ment," said, my aunt, somewhat severely, severe-ly, "we have already heard of it." "You have heard?" cried) Constance. "With the deepest sorrow." Constance drew herself up. "You do not approve?" she asked, proudly. r "We love you too much," said my mother, gently. Constance looked bewildered. "You are too good for the wretch," crlcil ni- aunt. "What ! Oil, what do you mean ?" exclaimed ex-claimed Constance. "If you marry this man," continued my aunt, vigorously, "you will regret it." My mother took her hand. "My sister sis-ter should not tell you this eo suddenly." sud-denly." "It is my duty to speak, and r-will," cried my aunt. 'Twill not lot Constance unrto h.erself tothmman with her eyes closed." "What have you against him?" de manded Constance, a redi spot beginning begin-ning to burn in each cheek. ."He drinks," answcredi my aunt, almost al-most triumphantly. Constance iauk back in the cushions. "I don't, believe it," she said, faiiuly. "He ill-treats, his- mother beats her, I belipve," continued my aunt. "This cannot be true," cried Con-Bbince. Con-Bbince. "Mrs. Granville, tell me." iMy mother nodded, sadly. "Alas! I cannot deny it." Constn.nco arose. "This is awful!" she paid, holding on to the back of the sofa. "I could never liave bellpvcd.it." She put hqr hand to her forehead. "It is like a bad dream." "My poor, dear Constance," mur inured my mother, rising nnc? putting hprarms round her. My nunt brought up her artillery. "ITe is thoroughly depraved; and will conio to a bad end. Ills relation nre at one on this point." Constnnce buried her face, in w.v moiner s nosom. "On, dear! oh, dear.' and I loved him so!" she nobbed. In 13i adjoining room T was becoming becom-ing uncomfortable. "We thought it rigMto tell you," said my aunt, moved by her tears, "though Alfred begged and implored us not to." "I could never, never have believed It," sobbed Constance. "Poor, poor Mrs. Granville!" My mother soothed her. "TTow dlfileult you must have felt it to tell me this!" exclaimed Constnnce, drying her tears. "It was so good of, you. r will not give him 'mother thought. To treat his mother so cruelly! cruel-ly! Oh, Mrs. Granville, I am so sorry for you!" "It ia I who am sorry for you," said my mpther, doubtfully. "And no one would have dreamed' tt Weelw-.iys thought "you were Ko.fonrljj of l-Un and innlled hlm.'Mterly. Anty .11 i!:o unit jcu were h!(!ins,. our -1.:-ow. Vnv ooble of youl" My i.'Owici- looked at Aunt Tabithn who ruturiii'tl her .iturc. "V,'hotiT ir, it?" snid Aunt Tubitlin. -.vliinpi't-'ri'-. "Find out." "Wlierc d! 1 you meet him, denrcht?" wljiojiiTvtl my motllet-. "Moot hitnV Why, here, of rourpe," iaid Coustnucu, with ojieiiinj- oycs. "Vck, yua, of course," saiduny niother. ny?tilled. "1 thoucrht you would be nlensed am I liuiricd itfro.sK to tell you." "Can Alfred have made a mistake?" muttered my aunt, hoursely. The two elder ladies stood still In the utmost ciubniTUtff'ment. "I shall ueter be happy again," paid Constnnee, uiouriifiilly. "Don't nay that," implored my mother. "Perhaps there !b a mistake." "Tlow can there be a mistake?" aked Constance, raising her head. "There eau hi no mistake," ,ald my nunt, hastily. "IIow eould he le cruel to you?" cried Constance, kissing my mother. "Cruel to me?" erleduny mother. "You said he was cruel to you." "Of whom are you speaking?" cried both ladies. "Of Alfred, of course." The two el tier ladles sat down suddenly. sud-denly. ,. "You are not ungaged 1o Alfred!" they gasped, simultaneously. "To whom else?" snid Constance, in amazement. "There is some misundcr&tanding," 1 observed, smoothly, coming in at the moment. The three fell upon me together. It took at least nn hour to explain. Yet I sad nothing which was not strictly strict-ly true, "You will not allow these practical jokes when you arc married, will you, Conny?" said my mother, fondly. "I will not!" replied Coimlnncc, lightening light-ening her lips. , "Mnrringo Ih the saving of a young .umn," repeated my njint, , grimly. ."liraJirr'i' Joiri. |