ng about
it, difficult to describe and hard to bear, as though evil would come to
you through her. I cannot tell you how the thought haunts and perplexes
me."

I laughed, little dreaming then how it would be.

"Sheer nervous fancy, Clare. Take it at the very worst, that Coralie
does like me, perhaps, a little too well, and is both piqued and angry
at my engagement, in the name of common sense, I ask you, what possible
harm can she do to me?"

"None that I can see; yet the dread lies heavy upon me, brother."

"You will forget it all, darling, when you hear the chimes of wedding
bells. Ah, Clare, if you could get better I should not have a wish left
ungratified."

Then, still smiling at Clare's nervous fancy, I went to the
drawing-room. Coralie was there awaiting me. The picture, in all its
details, rises before me as vividly as though I had only seen it
yesterday.

Although the day had been warm, the evening was chilly, and a small fire
burned brightly in the grate; the lamps were lighted, and gleamed like
huge, soft, warm, pearls; the air of the room was heavy with sweet and
subtle perfume. I have seen no woman who could arrange flowers like
Coralie. The way in which she gathered them and placed each fragrant
flower so that it could be most perfectly seen was wonderful. Great
masses of crimson against white, amber and blue. She had the instinctive
elegance of a true Parisienne.

It struck me as I entered that I had never seen so many lovely flowers;
the vases and the stands were all full. Coralie herself sat in a large
velvet fauteuil, the rich color of which formed a magnificent background
to her bright face and golden-brown hair. She was dressed with unusual
elegance; a robe of soft, black crape fell in graceful folds around her.
I never shall understand ladies' dresses, but this was made so that the
beautiful, white neck and arms were bare.

I remember, too, that she had great sprays of heliotrope in the bodice
of her dress and in her hair. She looked more lovely, more seductive,
than any words of mine could describe, if I wrote for six months.

On the table by her side was a tray set with delicate china and silver,
over which the firelight played cheerily. It was a picture of luxurious
home comfort. She looked up as I entered with a grave, sweet smile.

"Your coffee is ready, Sir Edgar."

There was my favorite chair drawn up to the table. As I sat down I said
aloud:

"This is comfortable."

Her smi