solicitude on his arm. 'Are you poor, my dear? I should be so sorry!'
'Never mind; I can support a wife,' said the young man.
'It wouldn't matter, because I am happy to say that Dora has something of her own,' Cousin Maria went on, with her imperturbable candour. 'Her father thought that was the best way to arrange it. I had quite forgotten my opposition, as you call it; that was so long ago. Why, she was only a little girl. Wasn't that the ground I took? Well, dear, she's older now, and you can say anything to her you like. But I do think she wants to stay———' And she looked up at him, cheerily.
'Wants to stay?'
'With Effie and Tishy.'
'Ah, Cousin Maria,' the young man exclaimed, 'you are modest about yourself!'
'Well, we are all together. Now is that all? I must see if there is enough champagne. Certainly you can say to her what you like. But twenty years hence she will be just as she is to-day; that's how I see her.'
'Lord, what is it you do to her?' Raymond groaned, as he accompanied his hostess back to the crowded rooms.
He knew exactly what she would have replied if she had been a Frenchwoman; she would have said to him, triumphantly, overwhelmingly: 'Que voulez-vous? Elle adore sa mère!' She was, how ever, only a Californian, unacquainted with the language of epigram, and her answer consisted simply of the words: 'I am sorry you have ideas that make you unhappy. I guess you are the
