"No," said Thankful, with the promptness of a woman who was looking
her best, and knew it. And the old man, looking at her, accepted
her judgment, and without another word led her to the parlor door,
and, opening it, said briefly, "My daughter, Mistress Thankful
Blossom."

With the opening of the door came the sound of earnest voices that
instantly ceased upon the appearance of Mistress Thankful. Two
gentlemen lolling before the fire arose instantly, and one came
forward with an air of familiar yet respectful recognition.

"Nay, this is far too great happiness, Mistress Thankful," he said,
with a strongly marked foreign accent, and a still more strongly
marked foreign manner. "I have been in despair, and my friend
here, the Baron Pomposo, likewise."

The slightest trace of a smile, and the swiftest of reproachful
glances, lit up the dark face of the baron as he bowed low in the
introduction. Thankful dropped the courtesy of the period,--i. e.,
a duck, with semicircular sweep of the right foot forward. But the
right foot was so pretty, and the grace of the little figure so
perfect, that the baron raised his eyes from the foot to the face
in serious admiration. In the one rapid feminine glance she had
given him, she had seen that he was handsome; in the second, which
she could not help from his protracted silence, she saw that his
beauty centred in his girlish, half fawn-like dark eyes.

"The baron," explained Mr. Blossom, rubbing his hands together as
if through mere friction he was trying to impart a warmth to the