ave nothing in common with the
star-sown flame of love. She mused on the origin of the word desire.
"_De sidera_"--a turning from the stars. Yes; his back was toward the
stars.

A waft of perfume from the rose-geraniums in the window-boxes of a house
near which they were passing overcame her with homesickness.

She saw the lawn at "Sweet-Waters," the ring of old acacia trees, the
little round, green wooden tables in their midst, covered with pots of
mignonette and rose-geranium--herself and Charlotte swinging in the
hammocks near-by--the peep of blue mountains through the hedge of box.
Oh! to feel Charlotte's arms around her!

She pinched the back of her hand sharply, feeling the tears start.
Virginia was far away, like her childhood, like her dead mother, like
all the other simple, lovely things that had made life joyous.

How strange it seemed to think that the old, familiar life was going on
there just the same! She had given her big chestnut, Hal, to Charlotte,
when she married Cecil. Charlotte wrote that she rode him every day. Oh,
for a ride through the Virginian fields and woods! Oh, to hear the soft
jargon of the darkies--to have if only twenty-four hours of the old,
free, simple life!

The cab stopped before a house in Bruton Street. This was London.
Perhaps there was no Virginia. Perhaps she had only dreamed it.

When she found that her hostess had not yet come down, she was startled.

"Am I too early? Isn't dinner at eight?" she asked the butler.

"At half-past eight, madam."

"Never mind. I will go up to Mrs. Arundel's room."

She went upstairs and knocked at Olive's door.

"Who is it?" said a sweet, slight voice.

"Sophy. I've come too early."

"Oh, you _darling_!" called the voice. "Come in. It isn't locked." Sophy
heard her add, "Open the door for Mrs. Chesney, Marie."

She opened the door herself before the maid could reach it, and entered.
The room was charming grey and pink. The dressing-table was as elaborate
as a lady-altar. Before it sat Olive, with her beautiful powdery brown
hair over her shoulders. Only one soft puff was in place at the back of
her head. The air was full of the scent of "Chypre," a perfume then very
fashionable and which Sophy disliked. She could not understand why Olive
used it. "Violet" or "Clover" would have suited her so much better.

She went up to Olive, and they kissed each other.

"You darling!" said Mrs. Arundel again. "How stunning you look! And what