elet of pearls.
She wore a rose in the bodice of her dress, and, as Ronald bent over
the music she was showing him the sweet, subtle perfume came to him
like a message from Dora.

Valentine Charteris had one charm even greater than her beauty. She
talked well and gracefully--the play of her features, the movement of
her lips, were something not to be forgotten; and her smile seemed to
break like a sunbeam over her whole face--it was irresistible.

Poor Ronald stood by her, watching the expression that seemed to change
with every word; listening to pretty polished language that was in
itself a charm. The two mothers, looking on, and Lord Earle felt
himself relieved from a heavy weight of care. Then Lady Earle asked
Valentine to sing. She was quite free from all affectation.

"What kind of music do you prefer?" she asked, looking at Ronald.

"Simple old ballads," he replied, thinking of Dora, and how prettily
she would sing them.

He started when the first note of Valentine's magnificent voice rang
clear and sweet in the quiet gloaming. She sang some quaint old story
of a knight who loved a maiden--loved and rode away, returning after
long years to find a green grave. Ronald sat thinking of Dora. Ah,
perhaps, had he forsaken her, the pretty dimpled face would have faded
away! He felt pleased that he had been true. Then the music ceased.

"Is that what you like?" asked Valentine Charteris, "it is of the
stronger sentimental school."

Simple, honest Ronald wondered if sentiment was a sin against
etiquette, or why fashionable ladies generally spoke of it with a sneer.

"Do you laugh at sentiment?" he asked; and Valentine opened her fine
eyes in wonder at the question. Lady Earle half overheard it, and
smiled in great satisfaction. Matters must be going on well, she
thought, if Ronald had already begun to speak of sentiment. She never
thought that his heart and mind were with Dora while he spoke--pretty
Dora, who cried over his poetry, and devoutly believed in the language
of flowers.

The evening passed rapidly, and Ronald felt something like regret when
it ended. Lady Earle was too wise to make any comments; she never
asked her son if he liked Valentine or what he thought of her.

"I am afraid you are tired," she said, with a charming smile; "thank
you for helping to amuse my friends."

When Ronald thought over what he had done, his share seemed very small;
still his mother was pleased, and he went t