"Just what I don't want to hear! Oh dear me! Please, please, Miss Newt!"
entreated Zephyr Wetherley.

"Mr. Wetherley," interrupted the other, imperiously, "you wish to ask
me to marry you. I desire to spare you the pain of my answer to that
question by preventing your asking it."

Mr. Wetherley was confounded. He wrinkled his brows doubtfully a
moment--he stared at the floor and at Miss Newt--he looked foolish and
mortified. "But--but--but--" stammered he. "Well--but--why--but--haven't
you somehow answered the question?" inquired he, with gleams of doubtful
intelligence shooting across his face.

Fanny Newt smiled icily.

"As you please," said she.

Poor Zephyr was bewildered.

"It is very confusing, somehow, Miss Newt, isn't it?" said he, wiping his
face.

"Yes, Mr. Wetherley; one should always look before he leaps."

"Yes, yes; oh, indeed, yes. A man had better look out, or--"

"Or he'll catch a Tartar!" said a clear, strange voice.

Fanny Newt and Wetherley turned simultaneously toward the speaker. It
was a young man, with clustering black hair and sparkling eyes, in a