going to bed.” 

 “Ah, then you look into the court.” She sighed. “If only Mr. Emerson was more tactful! We were so sorry for you at dinner.” 

 “I think he was meaning to be kind.” 

 “Undoubtedly he was,” said Miss Bartlett. 

 “Mr. Beebe has just been scolding me for my suspicious nature. Of course, I was holding back on my cousin’s account.” 

 “Of course,” said the little old lady; and they murmured that one could not be too careful with a young girl. 

 Lucy tried to look demure, but could not help feeling a great fool. No one was careful with her at home; or, at all events, she had not noticed it. 

 “About old Mr. Emerson—I hardly know. No, he is not tactful; yet, have you ever noticed that there are people who do things which are most indelicate, and yet at the same time—beautiful?” 

 “Beautiful?” said Miss Bartlett, puzzled at the word. “Are not beauty and delicacy the same?” 

 “So one would have thought,” said the other helplessly. “But things are so difficult, I sometimes think.” 

 She proceeded no further into things, for Mr. Beebe reappeared, looking extremely pleasant. 

 “Miss Bartlett,” he cried, “it’s all right about the rooms. I’m so glad. Mr. Emerson was talking about it in the smoking-room, and knowing what I did, I encouraged him to make the offer again. He has let me come and ask you. He would be so pleased.” 

 “Oh, Charlotte,” cried Lucy to her cousin, “we must have the rooms now. The old man is just as nice and kind as he can be.” 

 Miss Bartlett was silent. 

 “I fear,” said Mr. Beebe, after a pause, “that I have been officious. I must apologize for my interference.” 

 Gravely displeased, he turned to go. Not till then did Miss Bartlett reply: “My own wishes, dearest Lucy, are unimportant in comparison with yours. It would be hard indeed if I stopped you doing as you liked at Florence, when I am only here through your kindness. If you wish me to turn these gentlemen out of their rooms, I will do it. Would you then, Mr. Beebe, kindly tell Mr. Emerson that 

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