the writing table.

"Yes, Cousin Mary," called Miss Phyllis. "Did you meet often,
Mr. Carter?"

"Every evening in the French hour," said I.

"She'll have got over any nonsense by then," called Mrs. Hilary.
"They are often full of it."

"She had remarkably pretty hair," I continued; "very soft it was.
Dear me! I was just twenty."

"How old was she?" asked Miss Phyllis.

"One's first love," said I, "is never any age. Everything went
very well. Happiness was impossible. I was heartbroken, and the
governess was far from happy. Ah, happy, happy times!"

"But you don't seem to have been happy," objected Miss Phyllis.

"Then came a terrible evening--"

"She ought to be a person of active habits," called Mrs. Hilary.

"I think so, yes, Cousin Mary; oh, what happened, Mr. Carter?"

"And an early riser," added Mrs. Hilary.

"Yes, Cousin Mary. What did happen, Mr. Carter?"