d home with Annie Eustace. She had
come quite unattended, as was the wont of Fairbridge ladies. That
long peaceful Main Street lined with the homes of good people always
seemed a safe thoroughfare. Annie was even a little surprised when
Von Rosen presented himself and said, "I will walk home with you,
Miss Eustace, with your permission."

"But I live a quarter of a mile past your house," said Annie.

Von Rosen laughed. "A quarter of a mile will not injure me," he said.

"It will really be a half mile," said Annie. She wanted very much
that the young man should walk home with her, but she was very much
afraid of making trouble. She was relieved when he only laughed again
and said something about the beauty of the night. It was really a
wonderful night and even the eyes of youth, inhabiting it with fairy
dreams, were not essential to perceive it.

"What flower scent is that?" asked Von Rosen.

"I think," replied Annie, "that it is wild honeysuckle," and her
voice trembled slightly. The perfumed night and the strange presence
beside her went to the child's head a bit. The two walked along under
the trees, which cast etching-like shadows in the broad moonlight,
and neither talked much. There was scarcely a lighted window in any
of the houses and they had a delicious sense of isolation,--the girl
and the man awake in a sleeping world. Annie made no further allusion
to Miss Wallingford. She had for almost the first time in her life a
little selfish feeling that she did not wish to jar a perfect moment
even with the contemplation of a friend's troubles. She was very
happy walking beside Von Rosen, holding up her flimsy embroidered
skirts carefully lest they come in contact with dewy grass. She had
been admonished by her grandmother and her aunts so to do and
reminded that the frail fabric would not endure much washing however
skilful. Between the shadows, her lovely face showed like a white
flower as Von Rosen looked down upon it. He wondered more and more
that he had never noticed this exquisite young creature before. He
did not yet dream of love in connection with her, but he was
conscious of a passion of surprised admiration and protectiveness.

"How is it that I have never seen you when I call on your Aunt
Harriet?" he asked when he parted with her at her own gate, a stately
wrought iron affair in a tall hedge of close trimmed lilac.

"I am generally there, I think," replied Annie, but she was also
conscious of a l