short silence; he felt his wife's hand touch his in the
darkness--sign of a tender respect for his perplexity, but not for
his political views.

"Forgive me, dear, for using the word 'rebel,'" he said, smiling
and straightening his shoulders. "Where have you and Ailsa been
to-day? Did you go to New York?"

"Yes. We saw the Academy, and, oh, Curt! there are some very
striking landscapes--two by Gifford; and the cutest portrait of a
girl by Wiyam Hunt. And your friend Bierstadt has a Western
scene--all fireworks! and, dear, Eastman Johnson was there--and
Kensett sent such a cunning little landscape. We lunched at
Taylor's." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Ailsa did look
too cute fo' words. I declare she is the most engaging little
minx. Eve'y man sta'ed at her. I _wish_ she would marry again and
be happy. _She_ doesn't know what a happy love affair can be--poor
baby."

"Do you?" asked her husband.

"Are you beginning to co't me again, Curt?"

"Have I ever ceased?--you little Rebel!"

"No," she said under her breath.

"By the way, Celia," he said smiling, "that young man--cousin of
yours--Berkley, turned up promptly to-day. I gave him a room in
the office."