felt a very fine fellow himself, thinking what he had done for her.

It was not an unnatural circumstance that he should look upon the idea
of a dinner at the respectable private hotel, with his son-in-law and
daughter, as a trifle dull for Paris, or that he should have suggested a
meal at the Ritz would do them both good.

"Come and dine with me instead, my dear child," he said, with his grand
air. "Josiah, you must begin to go out a little and shake off your
illness, my dear fellow."

But Josiah was peevish.

Not to-night--certainly not to-night. It was the evening he was to take
the two doses of his new medicine, one half an hour after the other, and
he could not leave the hotel. Then he saw how poor Theodora's face fell,
and one of his sparks of consideration for the feelings of others came
to him, and he announced gruffly that his wife might go with her father,
if she pleased, provided she crept into her room, which was next door to
his own, without the least noise on her return.

"I must not be disturbed in my first sleep," he said; and Theodora
thanked him rapturously.

It was so good of him to let her go--she would, indeed, make not the
least noise, and she danced out of the room to get ready in a way Josiah
Brown had never seen her do before. And after she had gone--Captain
Fitzgerald came back to fetch her--this fact rankled with him and
prevented his sleep for more than twenty minutes.