at is better now.
If I ever do get married I must certainly have wonderful luck, if there
is any faith in signs, for I do build the fieriest fires. Now, do not
hurry, I'll come back in a few minutes. I think I shall put on a negligee
too," she added, as Marie drew a silk gown from her bag. "And then we'll
be surely settled down and right at home together."

With a warm and dazzling smile, she ran out to put the chocolate on the
grill, and arrange the sandwiches and fruit and cake on the table around
the bowl of drooping roses, and then, humming blithely, hurried into her
own room to change from her heavy dress to a soft house gown.

When, a few moments later, she returned to Marie, she found her standing
pensively in the center of the room, the heavy folds of a dark red gown
falling about her graceful figure, her head sunk on her breast in
reverie. Eveley put her arms around her tenderly.

"You are beautiful," she said. "Don't worry, dear. You are going to be
very happy, even yet. Just trust me--and--do you know the song of the
Belgian girl--Well, we shall make an American Beauty of you, sure enough.
Just try to be happy, and have confidence in me, Marie. I shall never go
back on you. My, how quick you were! Your bag is all unpacked, isn't it?"
She glanced with quickly appraising eyes at the heavy silver articles of
toilet laid out on the dressing-table, and at the gowns swinging from the
pole in the closet.

"Come along, baby sister," she said affectionately, "or the chocolate
will run all over the grill."

There was deep if unvoiced appreciation in Marie's eyes as she observed
the fine heavy furniture of the little dining-room, the lace doilies on
the mahogany table, the fine pieces of china, and the drooping roses.
Eveley led her gaily to her place at the table, and sat down beside her.

"We really ought to ask a blessing," she said. "I feel such a fountain of
gratitude inside of me. My own sister was ten years older than I, and
there were no babies afterward for me to make a fuss over. This is a
brand-new experience, and I am just bubbling over."

"But I am no baby," said Marie, smiling the wistful smile that suggested
tears and heartaches. "I think I am quite as old as you."

"Oh, impossible," gasped Eveley. "Why, I am twenty-five years old."

"Really!" mocked Marie, and she laughed--and Eveley realized it was the
first time Marie had laughed. "Well, I am twenty-three and a half."

"Oh, you can't be. Mr.