papers piled
high on the centre-table and scattered over the room about him.

He had read them all, and he knew now what it was to wake up famous, but
he could not taste it. Now that it had come it meant nothing, and
that it was so complete a triumph only made it the harder. In his most
optimistic dreams he had never imagined success so satisfying as the
reality had proved to be; but in his dreams Helen had always held the
chief part, and without her, success seemed only to mock him.

He wanted to lay it all before her, to say, "If you are pleased, I am
happy. If you are satisfied, then I am content. It was done for you, and
I am wholly yours, and all that I do is yours."

And, as though in answer to his thoughts, there was an instant knock at
the door, and Helen entered the room and stood smiling at him across the
table.

Her eyes were lit with excitement, and spoke with many emotions, and
her cheeks were brilliant with color. He had never seen her look more
beautiful.

"Why, Helen!" he exclaimed, "how good of you to come. Is there anything
wrong? Is anything the matter?"

She tried to speak, but faltered, and smiled at him appealingly.

"What is it?" he asked in great concern.

Helen drew in her breath quickly, and at the same moment motioned him
away--and he stepped back and stood watching her in much perplexity.

With her eyes fixed on his she raised her hands to her head, and her
fingers fumbled with the knot of her veil. She pulled it loose, and
then, with a sudden courage, lifted her hat proudly, as though it were a
coronet, and placed it between them on his table.

"Philip," she stammered, with the tears in her voice and eyes, "if you
will let me--I have come to stay."

The table was no longer between them. He caught her in his arms and
kissed her face and her uncovered head again and again. From outside
the rain beat drearily and the fog rolled through the street, but inside
before the fire the two young people sat close together, asking eager
questions or sitting in silence, staring at the flames with wondering,
happy eyes.

The Lion and the Unicorn saw them only once again. It was a month later
when they stopped in front of the shop in a four-wheeler, with their
baggage mixed on top of it, and steamer-labels pasted over every trunk.

"And, oh, Prentiss!" Carroll called from the cab-window. "I came near
forgetting. I promised to gild the Lion and the Unicorn if I won out in
London. So have i