a man be honest, and put forth his will, he can quench his love for
the woman that is lost to him, unless there have existed long the
closest, tenderest, purest ties between them; and even then, except
that 'twill revive again sometimes at the touch of an old memory.

"You dear boys!" says Margaret, coming over to us, to reward Tom with
a kiss on the cheek, and me with a smile. "What a vain thing you will
make me of my looks!"

"Nay," says candid Tom, "that work was done before ever we had the
chance of a hand in it."

"Well," retorted Margaret, with good-humoured pertness, "there'll
never be reason for me to make my brother vain of his wit."

"Nor for my sister to be vain of hers," said Tom, not in nettled
retaliation, but merely as uttering a truth.

"You compliment me there," says Margaret, lightly. "Did you ever hear
of a witty woman that was charming?"

"That is true," I put in, remembering some talk of Phil's, based upon
reading as well as upon observation, "for usually a woman must be
ugly, before she will take the trouble to cultivate wit. The
possession of wit in a woman seems to imply a lack of other reliances.
And if a woman be pretty and witty both, her arrogance is like to be
such as drives every man away. And men resent wit in a woman as if
'twere an invasion of their own province."

"Sure your explanation must be true, Mr. Philosopher," said Margaret,