am than I was last night! He came at eight punctually. I trembled all
over when I shook hands with him: I think he must have seen it, but
he said nothing. What a wonderful thing this thing they call high
breeding is! One feels it in a moment, and yet it seems intangible,
indescribable. He has it, I should think, in perfection, and he is the
only person I have ever known who possessed it, except, perhaps that
young girl, his cousin, whom he presented to me at the party. For
a while we talked--at least he did--easily and pleasantly, and then
suddenly he said, smiling at me, "Do you know, I think you are a very
generous woman?"

"Do you? Why?" said I.

"Because you are willing to shoulder other people's peccadilloes.
Don't you know a woman should never do that, especially for a man, who
is naturally selfish and can always take care of himself?"

I did not like the word _peccadilloes_, but I only said, "So can a
woman take care of herself."

"Do you really believe that?" he said with a gleam in his blue eyes.

"Really, I do. I am sure, at least, that I can take care of myself."

"Are you?" said he. We were sitting beside each other on the sofa, and
in another moment he had put his arm about me and drawn me to him. I
could not resist him--his voice, his eyes, his sweet words. I loved
him and was happy. It was a heaven of delight to be so near him; and
how natural it seemed! He said little, nor did I speak many words:
he held me in his arms, kissed me many times on my hands, cheeks and