Hillhouse, and cut short their conversation.

Meanwhile, Ellis Whitford had already half forgotten his painful
interview with his mother in the pleasure of meeting Blanche
Birtwell, to whom he had recently become engaged. She was a pure and
lovely young woman, inheriting her mother's personal beauty and
refined tastes. She had been carefully educated and kept by her
mother as much within the sphere of home as possible and out of
society of the hoydenish girls who, moving in the so-called best
circles, have the free and easy manners of the denizens of a public
garden rather than the modest demeanor of unsullied maidenhood. She
was a sweet exception to the loud, womanish, conventional girl we
meet everywhere--on the street, in places, of public amusement and
in the drawing-room--a fragrant human flower with the bloom of
gentle girlhood on every unfolding leaf.

It was no slender tie that bound these lovers together. They had
moved toward each other, drawn by an inner attraction that was
irresistible to each; and when heart touched heart, their pulses
took a common beat. The life of each had become bound up in the
other, and their betrothal was no mere outward contract. The manly
intellect and the pure heart had recognized each other, tender love
had lifted itself to noble thought, and thought had grown stronger
and purer as it felt the warmth and life of a new and almost divine
inspiration. Ellis Whitford had risen to a higher level by virtue of
this betrothal.

They were sitting in a bay-window, out of the crowd of guests, when
a movement in the company was observed by Whitford. Knowing what it
meant, he arose and offered his arm to Blanche. As he did so he