s the Boodie, undauntedly.

"'He will return; I know him well,'" again quotes Mr. Browne; "that's
your motto, I suppose, like the idiotic young woman in the idiotic song.
Well, I admire faith myself; there's nothing like it."

"Don't mind him," says Fabian, tenderly, placing his arm round the
discomfited Boodie, and pressing her pretty blonde head down upon his
breast. "I don't understand him, so, of course, you don't."

"But why?" says Dicky Browne, who is evidently bent on mischief; "she
has a great deal more brains than you have. Don't be aspersed by him,
Boodie; _you_ can understand me, I know, but I dare say I can soar
higher than he can follow, and what I say to you contains 'thoughts that
lie beyond the reach of his few words of English speech.'"

"Thank you," says Fabian.

The Boodie is plainly puzzled.

"I don't know what you mean," she says to Dicky; "I only know this,"
defiantly, "that I am certain Roger will return to-night, even if I am
in bed when he comes."

The words are hardly out of her mouth when the door opens and somebody
appears upon the threshold. This somebody has had an evident tussle with
the butler outside, who, perhaps, would fain have announced him, but
having conquered the king of the servants' hall, the somebody advances
slowly until he is midway between the centre of the room and the direct
glare of the firelight.

Every one grows very silent. It is as though a spell has fallen upon
them all; all, that is, except Dulce. She, rising hurriedly from her
seat, goes toward the stranger.

"It is _Roger_!" she cries suddenly, in so glad a voice, in a voice so
full of delight and intense thankfulness, that every one is struck by
it.

Then Roger is in their midst, a very sunburnt Roger, but just at first
his eyes are only upon Dulce, and after a little bit it becomes apparent
to everybody that it is Dulce alone he sees; and that she is in fact the
proud possessor of all the sight he owns.

He has taken between both his the two little trembling hands she has
extended to him, and is pressing them warmly, openly, without the
slightest idea of concealing the happiness he feels in being at her side
again.

A little happy smile wreathes her lips as she sees this, and with her
white fingers she smooths down the gray sleeve of his coat, as if he
were a priceless treasure, once lost, but now restored to her again.

I think Dare likes being looked upon as a long-lost priceless treasure,
bec