bonnet, and went with it herself. The post-office was not quite so near
as represented; but she was soon there, for she was eager till she had
posted it. But she came back slowly and thoughtfully; here in the street,
lighted only by the moon, and an occasional gaslight, there was no need
for self-restraint, and soon her mortification betrayed itself in her
speaking countenance. And to think that her mother, on whom she doted,
should have to write to her son, there present, and post the letter! This
made her eyes fill, and before she reached the door of the lodging, they
were brimming over.

As shine put her foot on the step, a timid voice addressed her in a low
tone of supplication. "May I venture to speak one word to you, Miss
Dodd?--one single word?"

She looked up surprised; and it was young Mr. Hardie.

His tall figure was bending towards her submissively, and his face, as
well as his utterance, betrayed considerable agitation.


And what led to so unusual a rencontre between a young gentleman and lady
who had never been introduced?

"The Tender Passion," says a reader of many novels.

Why, yes; the tenderest in all our nature:

Wounded Vanity.

Naturally proud and sensitive, and inflated by success and flattery,