"I had forgotten that." "Stay a little while with us," said Mr.Chapman, as Mr.Weston rose to lead the way to the drawing-room.

"You will not find us so bad as you think.

We may roast a negro now and then, when we have a barbecue, but that will be our way of showing you hospitality.

You must remember we are only 'poor heathenish Southerners' according to the best received opinions of some who live with you in New England." * * * * * "Alice," said Mrs.Weston, at a late hour in the evening, when the last of the guests were taking their departure, "Walter would like to see you in the library; but, my love, I wish you would spare yourself and him the useless pain of parting." "I must see him, dear mother, do not refuse me; it is for the last time--pray, let me go." "If you choose," and Alice glided away as her mother was interrupted by the leave-taking of some of their visitors.

The forms, the courtesies of life had no claims upon her now--she was enduring her first sorrow; the foundation of youth's slight fabric of happiness was yielding beneath her touch.