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Fight weeks came and went,–eight wonderfully happy weeks to Debby and her friend; for “propinquity” had worked more wonders than poor Mrs. Carroll knew, as the only one she saw or guessed was the utter captivation of Joe Leavenworth. He had become “himself” to such an extent that a change of identity would have been a relief; for the object of his adoration showed no signs of relenting, and he began to fear, that, as Debby said, her heart was “not in the market.” She was always friendly, but never made those interesting betrayals of regard which are so encouraging to youthful gentlemen “who fain would climb, yet fear to fall.” She never blushed when he pressed her hand, never fainted or grew pale when he appeared with a smashed trotting-wagon and black eye, and actually slept through a serenade that would have won any other woman’s soul out of her body with its despairing quavers. Matters were getting desperate; for horses lost their charms, “flowing bowls” palled upon his lips, ruffled shirt-bosoms no longer delighted him, and hops possessed no soothing power to allay the anguish of his mind. Mr. Seguin, after unavailing ridicule and pity, took compassion on him, and from his large experience suggested a remedy, just as he was departing for a more congenial sphere.

“Now don’t be an idiot, Joe, but, if you want to keep your hand in and go through a regular chapter of flirtation, just right about face, and devote yourself to some one else. Nothing like jealousy to teach womankind their own minds, and a touch of it will bring little Wilder round in a jiffy. Try it, my boy, and good luck to you!” –with which Christian advice Mr. Seguin slapped his pupil on the shoulder, and disappeared, like a modern Mephistopheles, in a cloud of cigar-smoke.

“I’m glad he’s gone, for in my present state of mind he’s not up to my mark at all. I’ll try his plan, though, and flirt with Clara West; she’s engaged, so it won’t damage her affections; her lover isn’t here, so it won’t disturb his; and, by Jove! I must do something, for I can’t stand this suspense.”

Debby was infinitely relieved by this new move, and infinitely amused as she guessed the motive that prompted it; but the more contented she seemed, the more violently Mr. Joe flirted with her rival, till at last weak-minded Miss Clara began to think her absent George the most undesirable of lovers, and to mourn that she ever said “Yes” to a merchant’s clerk, when she might have said it to a merchant’s son. Aunt Pen watched and approved this stratagem, hoped for the best results, and believed the day won when Debby grew pale and silent, and followed with her eyes the young couple who were playing battledoor and shuttle-cock with each other’s hearts, as if she took some interest in the game. But Aunt Pen clashed her cymbals too soon; for Debby’s trouble had a better source than jealousy, and in the silence of the sleepless nights that stole her bloom she was taking counsel of her own full heart, and resolving to serve another woman as she would herself be served in a like peril, though etiquette was outraged and the customs of polite society turned upside down.

“Look, Aunt Pen! what lovely shells and moss I’ve got! Such a splendid scramble over the rocks as I’ve had with Mrs. Duncan’s boys! It seemed so like home to run and sing with a troop of topsy-turvy children that it did me good; and I wish you had all been there to see.” cried Debby, running into the drawing-room, one day, where Mrs. Carroll and a circle of ladies sat enjoying a dish of highly flavored scandal, as they exercised their eyesight over fancy-work.

“My dear Dora, spare my nerves; and if you have any regard for the proprieties of life, don’t go romping in the sun with a parcel of noisy boys. If you could see what an object you are, I think you would try to imitate Miss Clara, who is always a model of elegant repose.”