so vital and so pure at once, and played, as if glad
of the privilege, about the curved lips, the flashing teeth, the soft
eyes under their long lashes, and the hair over the white forehead,
gleaming as crisply brilliant as fine-spun wire of gold.

"By her fruits I know her, and I admire her very much," he said, and
was sorry for it the moment afterward, for it checked the course of the
young girl's enthusiasm and brought a slight blush to her cheek.

"I ought to have known better," he said to himself with real penitence,
"than to utter a stupid commonplace to such a girl when she was talking
so earnestly." And he tried to make amends, and succeeded in winning
back her attention and her slow unconscious smiles by talking to her of
things a thousand miles away. The moon was silvering the tops of the
linden-trees at the gates before they thought of the flight of time,
and they had quite forgotten the presence of Mrs. Belding when her
audible repose broke in upon their talk. They looked at each other, and
burst into a frank laugh, full of confidence and comradeship, which the
good lady heard in her dreams and waked, saying, "What are you laughing
at? I did not catch that last witticism."

The young people rose from their chairs. "I can't repeat my own mots,"
said Arthur: "Miss Belding will tell you."

"Indeed I shall not," replied Alice. "It was not one of his best,
mamma."

She gave him her hand as he said "Good-night," and it lay in his firm
grasp a moment without reserve or tremor.

"You are a queer girl, Alice," said Mrs. Belding, as they walked into
the drawing-room through the open window. "You put on your stiffest
company manners for Mr. Furrey, and you seem entirely at ease with Mr.
Farnham, who is much older and cleverer, and is noted for his sarcastic
criticisms."

"I do not know why it is, mamma, but I do feel very much at home with
Mr. Farnham, and I do not want Mr. Furrey to feel at home with me."

Upon this, Mrs. Belding laughed aloud. Alice turned in surprise, and
her mother said, "It is too good to keep. I must tell you. It is such a
joke on Arthur;" and, sitting in a low arm-chair, while Alice stood
before her leaning upon the back of another, she told the whole story
of the scene of the morning in the rose-house. She gave it in the
fullest detail, interrupting herself here and there for soft
cachinnations, unmindful of the stern, unsmiling silence with which her
daughter listened.

She finishe