"What do you mean," cried Zell, dragging under the gaslight her
cavalier, who assumed much penitence and fear, "by thus rudely and
abruptly breaking in upon the retirement of three secluded young
ladies?"

"At their devotions," added the cynical voice of the gentleman at the
piano, who was no other than Mr. Goulden, Laura's admirer.

Zell's attendant threw himself in the attitude of a suppliant and said
deprecatingly:

"Nay, but we are astronomers."

"That's a fib, and not a very white one either," she retorted. "I
don't believe you ever look toward heaven for anything."

"What need of looking thither for heavenly bodies?" he replied in a
low, meaning tone, regarding with undisguised admiration her glowing
cheeks. "Moreover, I don't like telescopic distances," he continued,
with a half-made motion to put his arm around her waist.

"Come," she said, pirouetting out of his reach, "remember I am no
longer a child, I am seventeen to-day."

"Would that you might never be a day older in appearance and
feelings!"

"Are you willing to leave me so far behind?" she asked with some
maliciousness.