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THE NEW lN XIX. I went to my own CHAPTER I was not deceived. old morning-room, whic'i was Miss Austin’s I room now, and where I had received I Bertie’s first advances towards a confiden- tial friendship. It was somewhat changed. Miss Austin’s work-table, which stood at the window, was twice as big as any work-table I ever saw, and full to over- flowing with the performances of the girls. Music-books and school-books, which were perfectly orderly to the eye of Miss Austin. who knew exactly where to find what she wanted, but were nevertheless rather an uneasiness to me, whose eye did not under. stand the irregular lines, filled the book- shelves. Books of general reading were not in this academic retirement. The fire place was guarded by a high fender, and the carpet was somewhat worn. Yet I felt a familiar pleasure in it, notwithstanding all these changes. It was still my room, where I used to have my private talks with all my friends, where my mother sat, and Derwent came. If it was a wor kshop, and they made shoes in it, it would still be my room. I sat down there accordingly, not wait- ingâ€"thinking it just possible that there might be something to tellâ€"pretending to myself that it was premature, and that I really did not expect to hear anything, yet listening for Bertie’s step all the same , and l disappointei i; l. A THRILLING STORY OF OLD ENGLAND. was disappointed. I should have chosen another bride for you ; but it was not mine tochoose. You have decided for yourself, and I hope you will be happy." “Hope ! There is very little fear of that,” said Bertie : “ but I should be happier if you gave me a less cold expression of your satisfaction, Cousin Clare !" “ My satisfaction l" I said. “\Vait a little, Bertie ; one can not command one’s wishes so suddenly. lint it must have been a very short wooing which has been decided to-day.” “ \Ve were five weeks together at Christ- mas,” said Bertie, recovering his spirits. “ I contrived to be always as near her as possible ; and a man can do a great deal in five weeks. Then there’s nobody like her for that ; she knowa me betterâ€"what I prefer, and everything about meâ€"than other people who have known me all my life.” There was another pause, and rather a painful one. If it had been Alice, we could have mutually praised her,and been mutual- ly delighted ; but being Lucy, there Was all theusualawk wardness ofan hour’s interview with a friend who does not appreciate the perfections of the lady,and is not to be con- vinced of then). Poor Bertie‘s rejoicing llpS were sealed, and his enthusiasm met a full check. He could not say half, nor a tenth part, of what he meant to say; and yet there was tenfold greater reason for proving to me the excellencies of Lucy than he had ever supposed. “She has no guardian,” I said, at last, in a tone which I felt to be chilling, but could not alter. “Her father left no will, and as she has no fortune, and Mr. Crofton undertook the care of her, none has been I do not know whether I confess, in the quietness and suspense, a Lucy thought of referring you to anylio'lv single chill of apprehension stole over me. Was it Alice? Had she left her mother so soon? but of course it was Alice lâ€"who but Alice could walk with Bertie Nugent after that fashion under the Estcourt trees ‘t Everything was quiet, languid, dull. I could not help returning to those days be. fore my marriage when I knew nothing of Derwent, where he was, or what his senti- ments were ; when I used to sit in this same room by myself, hearing faintly allthe sounds of life without, an isolated, lonely woman. thinking so to spend my life. And that day of Kate Crofton’s marriage ! But, though I smiled, I trembled to think of it ; and thanked God in my heart for the bright course that lay before their two children, whom God bless ! Thus I waited by myself for Bertie’s return. And I was not deceived. Ere long I hearda quick, firm step outside, seeking from room to room for someone, and fancied I could hear a softer step steal upstairs. At last Bertie found me out, and plunged into the room with an exclamation of joy. His face was flushed~he was breathless with his great newsâ€"and came forward with such a swell of pride and happiness that I was touched lo the heart. “ Cousin Clare," he cried, “ wish me joy! I am the happiest man alive l” “ Happier than Hugh Sedgewick ‘2” said I. “ I wish you joy ‘with all my heart, Bertie, for I suppose you can mean only one thing. God bless you, my dear boy 3” He came up and shook my hénd, wrung it almost, so sincere was his grasp, and so fervent his happiness. “I may own it to you now,” said I; “it has been the desire of my heart. I have wished for it so much that I began to dread that it never would come to pass. Dcrwent says I am no match-maker, but I have both . hoped and plotted this.” “ I thought so i” said Bertie. “I knew you Wished itâ€"I told her so, but she would not believe me.” “I dare say she thought it too soon after ' this marriage,” said I. come with you, Bertie? It must have been an agitating day for her, poor Cl’llll .” l “I wanted her to come, but she would not,” said Bertie: “For it is strange what else. She has gneat prudence; perhaps she bade you see Mr. Grafton ‘3” "She knew I came to tell you, cousin, which I thought was all that was neces- sary," said Bertie. in a mortified tone, “But of course I will see Mr. Crofton immediately. He who protects and cares for her surely has the best right to be con- , sulted, and I trust soon she will want no‘ other protection save mine.” “Then I presume you wish the necessary , arrangements to be made soon ‘3” said I. “But you are both very young, lei-tie: it will be best to wait." “The sooner the better, I think, especial- ly now,” said Bertie. Then there came another pause. I could see he was deeply mortified, and I was grieved at it, yet did not feel that I could do anything to mend the matter. “Then I will go to Mr. Crof- ton,” he added, after a little, and looked Wistfully at me, as if to see whether I had pasitively nothing more to say. He had almost reached the door before I spoke. “Bertie,” I said, calling him back, “ I am sorry I cannot say anything to give you pleasure. whole. I had other fancies. By and by, of course, I shall be quite pleased ; and in the meantime you must just bear with me. But this, of course, does not in the least afiect what I said to you in January about I Estcourt. Do not stop me; the matter is imporlant in your circumstances, and you l understand that nothing can alter the settlement which we made then. In the _ meantime, on your marriage, the halfof the ! rents, and at my death Estcourt is yours.” “That must be as you please, cousin,’I said Bertie, firmly and nobly. “I would rather have half-a-dozen kind words just .now than Estcourt ; but I have not anything to do with that; it is as you please.” And so he strutted forth majestically, closingthedoor behind him with punctilious politeness, and left me alone again with my card-castle all blown to pieces. I Ithought it over, and I could see more and ' more what a blind fool I had been. From ,the first day they met, Bertie had sought i her society ; and though Lucy gave, or lseemed to give, no part of her attention to ihim, otherwise occupied as she was at the ,time, i had no doubt she was conscious of it from the first. To think how easily I had i been deceived lâ€"how complaisantly lent : my own assistance to deceive myself! \Vhen I began to go into particulars, and recalled that visit to the cottage which Bertie had persuaded me to, and which after all was “Why did She not I not to visit Alice, but to be fora whole ' long day with Lucy, my Whole heart rose against her. And if 1 turned to the future, remembering what pleasant dreamsl en- tertained an hour ago, and how the entire a settled idea Lucy has that You will not I scope? of that future was changed, Estcourt be pleased. ” “Lucy ! gasped out the name with a l sudden sensalionâ€"ljrst of utter surprise, then of actual rage and disappointment which horrified myself. “Lucy l” Icould not say another word. “Yes Lucy.” Bertie looked a t me, sud- denly chilled and full of astonishment; then he continued in a tone of self-defense, half . defiant, half apologeticâ€"“VVho should it} be but Lucy, Cousin Clare ‘2” I think I groaned aloud in the mere effort to relieve mysolf. Lucyâ€"the very surprise seemed to me a plan of malice to wound me the more deeply. Who should it be itself grew painful to my eyes when I thought that henceforward its mistress should be Lucy Crofton; that she it was who should inhabit these familiar rooms, walk on that terrace, overlook that garden; that through her interpretation the next generation should learn the charitable folly of my orphan school, and have to think of those happy children whose voices I could hear, as almost paupers. I he idea stung me ; for I could perceive beforehand how Lucy would do it, and how tenderly satirical she would be upon poor Aunt Clare. And yet after all, that was a. very secondary consideration. Was Bertie likely to be hzipoy with Lucy Crofton for a wife? but Lucy? Oh, Bertie, innocent boy l I turned from him in pain and mortification to the window; then I turned, disgusted, from that part of Escourt which was to be Lucy Crofton's. For the moment I fell into ' the most unchristian and miserable emo- tions. Lucy ! I kept my face away from him, and did not speak again. And Bertie too kept silent. I have no doubt he was hurt, and shocked, and griev- ously disappointed; Shocked that I should show Such temper and unamiable feelingâ€" disappointed that the crisis of his life had disappointed me. He stood looking at me , wistfully, his face burning red, and troubl- ' ed; not knowing whether to , anything or what to say. I had entered so willingly into all this prior anticipations, that the poor boy had grown quite sanguine of my sympathy, and . was totally unprepared for the change now. So he stood quite silent, watching me, fol- ‘ lowmg with his eyes every movement I i made. At last he spokeâ€" “ I am grieved to disappoint you, Cousin Clare: 1 have not done anything whichl could in any way wound or mortify," here 1 Bertie paused. with a. rising color, “ any- one else. But as for my choice, I rejoice ‘ and glory in it, even while 1 grieve that you do not agree with me ; and havimr said i this, perhaps I had better go away.” D By this time I had come to myself. “Your must do no such thing, Bertie," said I. “I I was glad to try and forget this last view of the question. Till last Christmas, Bertie and Alice had always been together at every holiday time ; but it was, of course, on the frankest footing ofyouthful acq uaint- onceâ€"the brother-and-sister kindnesses which I hoped to see grow into a. more de- cided preference. But things had certainly changed at their last meeting. Alice was occupied with her sister. Had she observed that Bertie no longer took the same pains to ask her out and share her amusements ‘3 I could not tell ; but I remembered with some comfort her air of pique, her blush of displeasure, and her unwillingness to leave my society for his. Yes ; no doubt Alice had been clearer-sighted than I. On my way upstairsâ€"for it was drawmg near the dinner hourâ€"I encountered Lucy coming down. She was still in her white dress which she had worn at the marriage, and looked rather subdued and pale, but not so happy as one might have supposed from Bertie’s happiness. For the first time Lucy faltered before incâ€"hesitated, hung down her head, and changed color. I lkissed her gravely, and was the first to speak. “ Bertie has told me,” said I ; “ I con- fess I was surprised. Lucy ; but I trust and hope you may both be very happy." “Thank you, Aunt Clare,” said Lucy. But she did not look up relieved, as I had I am disappointed; that is the _ expected she would : on the contrary, she l erate enough to keep her well wrapped up. avoided my eye, and stood by me with very evident disinclination for any further talk, waiting to hear if I had anything else to say. I had nothing else to say. I shook her hand and let her go, as she seemed to wish, and so reached my own room more puzzled than before. I could not understand it. She was not triumphant; she was not re. joicing: she looked exhausted and over- strained, as if she had gone through some trial which was almost too much for her: and when I closed my dear, I fancied I heard her softly return and shut herself into her own room. Perhaps Lucy had more heart than I gave her credit for ; perhaps-â€" but conjectures were vain in respect to so self-commanded a person, who took nobody into her confidence. I had half a mind to go to her, having a compunction in my mind, and try to win her to some degree of frankness ; but my compassion of the moment was not strong enough to overcome my previous feelings. I began to quarrel With my uncomfortable thoughts~strange- 1y different from those of the morning â€"â€"and oeuld not help remembering that on the other side of the wall was Alice,who probably, like me, had sometimes thought of another conclusion to Bertie‘s youth. Well, well ! disappointmentis the one thing certain to every human creature ; it might have been worse. CHAPTER X.\. “So. Clare,” said Derwent, “Bertie has lost no time in acting upon your words. Do you know with what errand he came to me to-night ?” “Yes ; Isaw him first,” said I. “And you don’tseem very much delighted, Iam bound to say. Did you expect the young fellow to hang on to your skirts, Clare 7" said Derwent. “It does not answer at his age.” “ I expected nothing unbecoming in Bertie,” said I, a little displeased, “which that would have been : but I confess I thought it sudden. They have seen very little of Each other to make up their minds so soon.” “For a youth of two-aud-twenty he has chosen very discreetly," said Derwent. “A better girl than Lucy is not possible. I told him I thought he was in great luck, and he seems to be quite of my mind.’ “Yes ; he appears very happy," said 1. “Upon my honor, Clare, you take it very coolly. I expected to find you quite excited about ‘the second marriage in the family,’ ” said Derwent. laughing. “I would rather it had been Hen.y Crofton : but as it isI am very Well pleased. What is wrong? You are quite severe and stately to-night, Madame Clare." “ I would rather it had been Henry Crofton too,” said I z “ that is all.” “ Ah, I perceive ; odd enough now I don’t think you ever have taken to Lucy, Clare," said Derwenr. “Why, I wonder? She’s a very good girl, is she not '7” “ A very good girl,” said I, gravely. “ Then what have you got against her '.’ She's particularly attentive to you. I like her for that,” said my husband, with a glance of inquiry, from which I averted my face. “ And particularly attentive to me,” said I ; but sometimes people are too atten- tive and too good, Dcrwent. Poor human nature objects to be outdone.” “ Which means that you don’t intend to explain your objections to Lucy. As you will,” said my husband ; “ but I assure you I cangratulated Bertie heartily, and I think he has done very well.” \Vith which words the conversation end- edâ€"ended with a kind of aghost of aquarrel between my husband and myself, anda little restrained our cordiality for that night, which I am afraid did not improve the amiability of my sentiments toward Lucy. I lay awake pondering the whole matter for a. long time, and the strange incident of the Easter Monday returned to my mind. Could Lucy have anything to do with the owner of that dashing cab and stcainiug thorough-bed '? How was it that the sight of them overpowered her for the first time with such a consciousness of her orphanage that she was compelled to leave me, moved by feelings which had been quite quiescent and manageable hither- to, yet was still out walking in the garden when I returned? The circumstanc- es were very suspicious, and became more and more so as I pondered over them, and in brief I was thoroughly discontented, and not to be satisfied by any exercise of reason. Lucy's calm was to inc only an impenetrable and uncertain surface, which some unsus- pected influence might break up under our feet at any moment. A person who is in- comprehensible by ordinary rules of nature is generally more or less a suspicious per- son. This girl had been in my constant society for four or five months, and I knew no more about her wishes, her tlioughts.and her loves, that I did the first day. Every now and then 1 made a sudden discovery of something which she had no motive what- ever for concealing, and yet “ never men- tioned,” which was her form of putting the matter. \Vhat would her p0ch of con- cealu’ient be if she had really had something to conceal? In the morning I came to the resolution of asking a year's delay from Bertie, a very common condition, which, c0iisidering the age of both, was also very reasonable. and to which Derwent fully consented. Bertie gave in after considerable persuasion. but could not end the discussion without af- fronting me by a hope that in the meantime I would be kind to Lucy, which, from him, I confess, woundedâ€"more than it ought to have done. Kind l perhaps he was rightâ€"for I certainly could not give love to my guest, nor, I fear, even esteem ; but these things would not come on being commanded. Bertie and I accord- ingly, for the first time, parted rather cold- lyâ€"another agreeable token of the in- fluence of Lucy. They certainly took the very best method possible of making my negative dislike a positive enmity. Mrs. Hurley and her family left us next, day. In present ciruuuistances I thought it just as Well to keep silent about this change of affairs. Alice Was occupied with her brother, of whom, though I did not particularly admire him, she was very proud, and said goodbye to Bertie with such gay good humor and friendliness, that I took unwilling comfort from the thought that my intentions had as little force in her mind as in his. And Mrs. Harley could talk of nothing but Clara, wondering how far she was by this time, whether the deer child would like travel- ing, and if Mr. Sedgewick would be consid- So there was really no occasion for intro- ducing anew event, and, on the whole, it seemed wisest to say nothing about it. I will not positively answer for it that the wicked and worldly policy of those elderly people who Snub the attachments of the young as a. duty, did not whisper in my ear, “ There is no telling what may happen in a year :” but at all events I took the nega- tive method of wisdom, and held my peace. The end of the week found us once more at home, and all these much-expected fes' tivibins thrown back intofhe past. I confess I had almost forgotten Clara Harley’s marriage already. The new incident was of so much greater importance, that it blotted out that other complete event which no longer left any room for imagination. Clara was married, and there was an end of her : but as for Lucy, she was close to me, by side every day, and,strange aggravation, was Bertie's chosen, and the future mistress of Estcourt. I bent my mind to my (luty as far as I was able. For Bertie’s sake, and for necessity’s, I tried very hard to find out some points of union between the veiled spirit by my side and my own. And Lucy replied to my efforts with the utmost sweet- nessâ€"sat with me, walked with me, talked with me,was attentive to every wish I ex- pressed, and tried to anticipate those I said nothing about, but withal never once lifted that veil, never betrayed herself; and love, however solicited,would not come. But we preserved,“ may be supposed.an appearance of the most perfect friendship. Lucy kissed me morning and evening as duly as she 3ame down and went upstairs. She talked of Bertie as sensibly and quietly as if she had been his grandmother ; but I am grieved to say she still continued, despite all my endeavors, to provoke and “ag- gravate” me. My attention was roused, and my eyes jealous. I remembered her paleness and heavy look when I met her at Estcourt on the stairs; I remembered the incident of the cab on Easter Monday. I began to think and recall to my mind what she said about her father‘s servant, and the letter addressed to Plantagenet Hall, and Icould not help observing that Lucy still got the same succession of letters, and that still the maid brought down her share of the outward bound correspondence just as the post bag was about to be closed. One other time I thought I caught a glimpse of the same cab dashing along the road below Hil- font, and a little later saw Lucy enter, looking agitated and distressed : but when I questioned her about it, she only asked, with the same open smile of surprise, “I, Aunt Clare? I do not ‘know any- body who drives a cab and visits in the village." There was nothing to be got out of Lucy : but I Watched her with involuntary eagerness and kept. her very close under mv eye. When a young lady speaks very frankly about her betrothed lover, quotes his letters, and is quietly satirical over his opinions and weaknesses, and at the same time gets heaps of other letters, and seems to have some mysterious, unexplainable relationship with the VVill-o’-the-VVisp cap, which no- body knows anything about. one's curiosity becomes interested. I almost think I should have read the addresses of Lucy’s letters had she placed them on the hall table now; and I confess I was under temptations to steal the old man’s bag from him and look over the correspondence clan- destinely. Then there began to be faint indications, breaking even through Lucy’s self-command, that all was not so calm with her as it used to be. Sometimes her eyes looked as though they had been crying;, sometimes I was inclined to suppose she had not slept much the last night : and at such times Lucy quoted Bertie, and smiled at his simplicities with a. positive bitterness, as if she owed him a grudge. I never studied the character of either man or Woman before, but I did watch Lucy with an anxioui and jealous regard. Nothing she did escaped me; and when she chose a book and read it, I used to read it after her, with some idea of catching a clew to her thought. But the books which Lucy read were all proper books, highly recom- : mended for young ladiesâ€"the most of them ‘ loftin superior to any human sympathy; whatever. I listened to her music, but’ that was the music she always played ; and I on the whole, I could discover nothing about Lucy. \\'e walked together as if there was s. dark bridge between us; and I * knew instinctively that all my knowledge of her, all my watching of her, all the time we had spent together, had not enabled and never would enable me, to pronounce with certainty upon any one thing which Lucy was like, or was not like to do. (TO BE coxrrxusn.) â€"â€"+â€"â€" We Must Have Peace. While we are five millions of Canadians to~day, we have the ports, the navigation facilities, the mineral resources, the agri‘ cultural lands, the extension fisheries, the timber resources for employing and sustain ing a. population of fifty millions. The main thing needed for the successful uphuilding of Canada is the opportunity for peaceful improvement and development. We must have peace. We must have security. We cannot afford to keep up it standing army. The maintenance of a fleet is beyond our pruent ability, although we have the greater part of a million tons of oce in going shipping floating on all oceans and seas. Great Britain, at the expense of her own taxpayers re ieves us of these costly safe- guards. Her ironclads,her cruisers and her arsenals are as much for the protection of Canada as British shipping. The money which she spends on an army and navy and fortifications for the mutual benefit of all portions of the empire, we expend in build- ing railways and canals, exploring remote districts, subsidizing steamships, promoting commerce, extending post-office facilities and in other Works for the internal develop- ment of the country. The mighty protecting arm of the empire enables us to do this. With that withdrawn, we would be subject to war’s alarms ; the peaceful development of the country would be constantly inter- rupted, the treasury would be drained for naval and military expenditure. Solomon‘s Wisdom. Little girlâ€"“ I don’t See why folks calls Solomon wise.” Auntâ€"“ He was.” “ Guess you don't read your Bible much. Once, when two Women claimed the same baby, he wanted to cut it in two, so each could have half. Why, my little brother lmarket and meets with l LIVE DAIRY PULlllI. ONTARIO MUsr TERMS“ ATTEN- TION TO BUTTER AND CHEESE. No Profll Now In Rzilslng WIwaIâ€"erustrnl' luns Cam flake and Ship Butter WI"! Profit In Great ltritnln “my Cannot Cunadlnns no So ? The Ontario farmer has learned by ex- perience that there is no profit in growing wheat. There was a time when the wheat crop was the most important of any, and realized a profitable price in the market, but that day has gone, with small probabili- ty of its return in the near future. This condition has not been brought aboutby any deterioration in the quality of the grain produced, but is directly attributable to the increased production from the large areas brought under cultivation recently in foreign lands, where in former years, the cultivation of this cereal was not en- gaged in to any wide extent. But within the pastdecade or two India has sprung into prominence as a. wheat producer of vast acreage, followed by Australia, Mani toba and Argentina. These have poured their product into Liverpool, which regu lates the price of breadstu fi‘s the world over and the price has come down and stayed down because of the cheapened supply. The Canadian farmer, when in competition with the Californian and Russian producer could hold his own, but he cannot compete with the humble wheat raiser in India, whose needs are no more costly than a rice diet and a. loin cloth, nor with the cheap labor of the Argentine Republic, whence wheat is sent to England and marketed at 54 centsa bushel. It is true that grain from tropics-.1 countries is inferior to Manitoba grain, being softer and much less satisfac- tory in the milling,yet in meeting a want it is acceptable, and L0\VERS TH E VALU E of the superior article. With low prices abroad and lower still at home, the Ontario farmer cannot pursue wheat culture with any hope of profit, and must cast around for some more lucrativeuutletfor his energy. Australian farmers have met the difficulty by turning their attention to dairy products and taking their land out of wheat cultiva- tion, and so successful have they been that Australian butter ranks high in the English profitable sale. Ontario farmers would do well to consider Australia’s example. Ontario is the pastoral province of the confederacy. Here are some of the finest pasture lands in the world, interspersed with lakes and streams of the purest water. Few countries can present conditions so favorable to the rais- ing of cat-tie and the sustenance of dairy herds as Ontario presents. Canadian cheese holds a. high place in foreign markets, but ' while great attention has been given to / cheese production litttie attention has been ;' bestowed upon butter as an article for foreign ‘ commerce. Farmers who have been losing money in raising grain could have secured, a profit had they turned their attention td the dairy and availed themselves of the demand which always exists abroad forl' prime dairy products. The Australians fully alive to this valuable trade, hav given an intelligent attention to butte" making, and the result is that they have; by the excellence of their product,develope_d a traffic with England which already has given most gratifying returns, withpromise of great expansion in the future. If Auslâ€" tralians can do this, Ontario agriculturists can do the same, and, as they have better facilities for butter production than can be found at the antipodes, and are within a comparatively short distanceof the English market, the opportunity of SHARING IN THE PROFITS of the trade should not be disregarded. The advantage would all be upon their side. The land which is now exhausted through successive grain crops. would regain its fertility after a few years of use as pasture land, the work of dairying would not be so exacting on the farmer, fertilizers in the share of manure would be plentiful, and all the farming necessary would be to produce such creps as are needful for winter feeding. Extensive dairying would lead to the selec~ tion of the highest type of milk-producing stock and the increased value of animals would be another source of revanue to those whobredtncm. By turning to this industry and following it With a will the farmers of this province could place themselves in a position which as grain growers they can- not hope to attain. Both the Dominion and the Ontario Gov- ernments have done considerable towards directing attention to this importan branch of agriculture. Prof. Robertson and Hon. John Dryden have rendere invaluable service in this direction, an the travelling dairies have imparted muc practical information upon the subject, bu what is needed is a vigorous policy on th part of both Governments with a view t making diarying the leading branch 0 agriculture in this province, so eminently} fitted by nature to prosper in that direc‘ tion. The literature of the subject shoul be widespread in the farming districts, anti dozens of travelling diaries instead of onb or two should be put in operation in the country. If one Prof. Robertson can do much to encourage this industry, a. dozen professors of the science of butter making could do much more, and this attention to a profitable business too long neglected would meet with the approval of every farmer and friend of the farmeriu the land. The farming element in the Ontario Legislature can do a great deal towards furthering such a. commendable movement, which. if properly carried out will in a few years make this province the finest butter producing country in the world. .â€"._,__-’-â€"._â€"â€" Poor Thing ! Mother (entering parlor suddenly as the lovers turn up the light)â€"Ethel, you were sitting entirely too close to Mr. Getthei‘e when I entered. Ethelâ€"Mother, you know well enough how afraid I am in the dark ! The Sultan of Johore wears an electric would have more sense than that." ight in his shirt front. <. / y