se, and gazed at it precisely as a lover might be expected
to gaze at his lady's image before jealously surrendering it into other
hands. She had never seen Anthony Robeson look at any photograph except
her own with just that expression. She had often wondered if he ever
would. She had recommended this course of procedure to him many times,
usually after once more gently refusing to marry him. She had begun at
last to doubt whether it would ever be possible to divert Tony's mind from
its long-sought object. But that trip to San Francisco, and the months he
had spent there in the interests of the firm he served, had evidently
brought about the desired change. She had not seen him since his return
until to-day, when he had run up into the country where was the Marcy
summer home, to tell her, as she now understood, his news and to make his
somewhat extraordinary request.

She accepted the photograph with a smile, and studied it with attention.

"Oh, but isn't she pretty?" she cried warmly--and generously, for she was
thinking as she looked how much prettier was Miss Langham than Miss
Marcy.

"Isn't she?" agreed Anthony with enthusiasm.

"Lovely. What eyes! And what a dear mouth!"

"You're right."

"She looks clever, too."

"She is."

"How tall is she?"

"About up to my shoulder."

"She's little, then."

"Well, I don't know," objected Anthony, surveying his own stalwart length
of limb. "A girl doesn't have to be a dwarf not to be on a level with me.
I should say she must be somewhere near your height."

"What a magnificent dresser!"

"Is she? She never irritates one with the fact."

"Oh, but I can see. And she's going to marry you. Tony, what can you give
her?"

"A little box of a house, one maidservant, an occasional trip into town,
four new frocks a year--moderate ones, you know, in keeping with her
circumstances--and my name," replied Anthony composedly.

"You won't let her live in town, then?"

"Let her! Good heavens, what sort of a place could I give her in town on
my salary? Now, in the very rural suburb I've picked out she can live in
the greatest comfort, and we can have a real home--something I haven't had
since Dad died and the old home and the money and all the rest of it
went."

His face was grave now, and he was staring down into the water as if he
saw there both what he had lost and what he hoped to gain.

"Yes," said Juliet sympathetically, though she did not know how to imagine
the