is like the garden
scene of 'Faust.' Martha ought to come on now with Mephistopheles. Ah!
here are Mrs. Windsor and tea. They will have to do instead."

Although Lord Reggie was such a novice in wooing, and would very much
have preferred being wooed, he managed to convey to the mind of Lady
Locke the notion that he had some vague intentions towards her. And that
evening, as she dressed for dinner, she asked herself plainly what they
were. That he loved her, she did not even for a moment imagine. She was
not much given to self-deception. That he loved her money, a far more
reasonable supposition as she mentally allowed--she did not really and
honestly believe. For Lord Reggie, whatever were his faults, always
conveyed the impression of being entirely thoughtless and improvident
about worldly affairs. He had everything he wanted, naturally. Any other
condition would have been wholly impossible to him, and would have
seemed painfully out of place, and foreign to the scheme of the world,
to those who knew him. But he never appeared to bother about any means
for obtaining things, and Lady Locke thought him the last boy in the
universe to lay a plot for the obtaining of a fortune. Had he, then,
conceived a light passing fancy for her? She thought this possible,
though a little unlikely. He was so different from the other men whom
she had known, that she could never "place" him, or feel that she knew
at all what his mind was likely to do under given conditions, or in cut
and dried situations. Undoubtedly he had begun to think about her as
well as about himself, an unusual conjunction, which no one would have
anticipated. But exactly how he thought about her, Lady Locke could not
tell; nor could she precisely tell either how she thought about him. He
began to mean something to her. That was all she could say even to
herself. She dressed for dinner very slowly that evening. Her window was
open, and as she was pinning some yellow roses in the front of her gown,
having dismissed her maid, she heard the piping, excited voice of Tommy
asking a question of some hidden companion in the garden below.

"How does it get like that?" he exclaimed, with the penetrating squeak
of a very young child. "I don't see. Does it grow?"

"No, Tommy," replied the soft voice of Lord Reggie, "nothing grows like
that. It is too strange and beautiful to have grown."

"Well, then, Reggie, do they paint it?"

"Never mind how it is done. That is the mis