He had been so long used to Kitty dominant, to Kitty sarcastic, to Kitty
willful, to Kitty absolute, that he could not understand the new Kitty.

"I do not think our little girl is quite well, mother," he said one day,
after studying his daughter reading the _Endymion_ without a yawn.

"Tom, if you can't 'think' to better purpose, you had better go on
painting. Kitty is in love."

"First time I ever saw love make a woman studious and sensible."

"They are uncommon symptoms; nevertheless, Kitty's in love. Poor child!"

"With whom?"

"Max Raymond;" and the mother dropped her eyes upon the ruffle she was
pleating for Kitty's dress, while Tom Duffan accompanied the new-born
thought with his favorite melody.

Thus the winter passed quickly and happily away. Greatly to Kitty's
delight, before its close Jack found the "blonde, sentimental,
intellectual friend," who could appreciate both him and his writings;
and the two went to housekeeping in what Kitty called "a large dry-goods
box." The merry little wedding was the last event of a late spring, and
when it was over the summer quarters were an imperative question.

"I really don't know what to do, mother," said Tom. "Kitty vowed she
would not go to the Peak this year, and I scarcely know how to get along
without it."