lost
trim; but it would have been after--ah, well! So long as you can help
it, never marry! But when you cannot help it a moment longer, then
listen to nothing but that; for, my dear, I know your choice would be
worthy of the Starks. And now--let me see his picture."

"Why, aunty!" said Molly.

"Well, I won't pretend to be supernatural," said the aunt, "but I
thought you kept one back when you were showing us those Western views
last night."

Now this was the precise truth. Molly had brought a number of
photographs from Wyoming to show to her friends at home. These, however,
with one exception, were not portraits. They were views of scenery and
of cattle round-ups, and other scenes characteristic of ranch life. Of
young men she had in her possession several photographs, and all but one
of these she had left behind her. Her aunt's penetration had in a way
mesmerized the girl; she rose obediently and sought that picture of
the Virginian. It was full length, displaying him in all his cow-boy
trappings,--the leathern chaps, the belt and pistol, and in his hand a
coil of rope.

Not one of her family had seen it, or suspected its existence. She now
brought it downstairs and placed it in her aunt's hand.

"Mercy!" cried the old lady.

Molly was silent, but her eye grew warlike.

"Is that the way--" began the aunt. "Mercy!" she murmured; and she sat
staring at the picture.

Molly remained silent.

Her aunt looked slowly up at her. "Has a man like that presumed--"

"He's not a bit like that. Yes, he's exactly like that," said Molly. And
she would have snatched the photograph away, but her aunt retained it.

"Well," she said, "I suppose there are days when he does not kill
people."

"He never killed anybody!" And Molly laughed.

"Are you seriously--" said the old lady.

"I almost might--at times. He is perfectly splendid."

"My dear, you have fallen in love with his clothes."

"It's not his clothes. And I'm not in love. He often wears others. He
wears a white collar like anybody."

"Then that would be a more suitable way to be photographed, I think. He
couldn't go round like that here. I could not receive him myself."

"He'd never think of such a thing. Why, you talk as if he were a
savage."

The old lady studied the picture closely for a minute. "I think it is a
good face," she finally remarked. "Is the fellow as handsome as that, my
dear?"

More so, Molly thought. And who was he, and what were his pro