contest your rights, you perceive," said Mabel, running through a
laughing summary of their companions' occupations.

"Betrothals are epidemic in this household and neighborhood,"
Winston was writing. "There are no fewer than three pairs of turtles
cooing down stairs as I pen this to you, my bird of paradise. The
case that next to mine--to ours--commands my interest is that of my
sister. I came home to learn that the little Mabel I used to hold on
my knee had entered into an engagement--conditional upon my
sanction--with that traditional tricky personage, a Philadelphia
lawyer--Mr. Frederic Chilton, at the door of whose manifold
perfections, as set forth by my loquacious aunt, you may lay the
blame of this delayed epistle. I know nothing of this aspirant to
the dignity of brotherhood with myself, saving the facts that he is
tolerably good looking, claims to be the scion of an old Maryland
family, and that self-conceit is apparently his predominant
quality."

"What is that?" asked Frederic, halting before the windows, of the
drawing-room, as a wild, sorrowful strain, like the wail of a
breaking heart, arose upon the waveless air.

Rosa was a vocalist of note in her circle, and she had never
rendered anything with more effect than she did the song to which
even the preoccupied strollers among the garden borders stayed their
steps to listen. Through the open casement Mabel and her lover could
see the face of the musician, slightly uplifted toward the
moonlight; her eyes, dark and dreamy, as under the cloud of many
years of weary waiting and final hopelessness. Her articulation was
always pure, but the passionate emphasis of every word constrained