hand,' but that you acted so promptly and courageously that the
child was saved. What pleasure could I have taken with my horses
if their feet had trampled that little boy?"

"I see my opportunity," replied Miss Burton, with a decisive little
nod. "Your afternoon drives might have been marred by unpleasant
thoughts as one's sleep is sometimes disturbed by bad dreams. You
have no idea what a delight it is to the average New England mind,
Mr. Stanton, to secure the vantage ground in a bargain. In view of
your own voluntary admissions, you can scarcely do otherwise than
let me have my own way."

With the exception of the two or three who had formed Miss Burton's
acquaintance at dinner, those who at first had gathered around her
had by this time dwindled away. Ida Mayhew sat near in an open
window of the parlor, ostensibly reading a novel, but in reality
observant of all that occurred. Both she and Van Berg had been
amused by the fact that Stanton, usually so languid and nonchalant,
had been for once thoroughly aroused. Between anger at his coachmen,
alarm for the child, and interest in its preserver, he was quite
shaken out of his wonted equanimity, which was composed equally
of indolent good-nature, self-complacency, and a disposition to
satirize the busy, earnest world around him. It was apparent that
he was somewhat nonplussed by Miss Burton's manner and words, and
those who knew him well enjoyed his perplexity, although at a loss
themselves to imagine what object Miss Burton could have in view.
Half unconsciously Van Berg turned his smiling, interested face
towards Ida Mayhew, who was regarding her cousin with a similar
expression, but the moment she caught the artist's eyes she coldly
dropped her own to her book again.