et herself--poetry--what should it be? Ah, here is Eric.

It was Eric. His face was flushed. His lip curled. "Coward! craven!" he
exclaimed, "Coward, craven."

"Well, tell us about it," said Norman, coolly, but a wave of color
rushed over his face.

"O, palaver and stuff. Somebody's dreadfully ill--dying, I believe, and
that somebody is wife, or mother, or son to this brute you challenged.
He's got to go, the coward. If you are ever in his vicinity again, and
send him your card, he will understand it and meet you at such place and
with such weapons as you prefer. Bah--too thin!" and Eric concluded with
this emphatic statement.

Mae leaned her head against her two clasped hands which rested on the
mantel-piece. How strangely everything looked; even the dim fire had a
sort of aureole about it, as her eyes rested there again; but when one
looks through tears, all things are haloed mistily. Norman turned and
looked at Mae, as Eric walked impatiently about. She did not move or
speak. He walked to her side, and stood looking down at her. The faint
mist in her left eye was forming into a bright, clear globe as large as
any April raindrop. Mae knew this, and knew it would fall, unless she
put up her hand and brushed it away, and that would be worse. The color
rose to her cheeks as she waited the dreadful moment. She was perfectly
still, her hands clasped before her, her head bent, as the crystal drop
gathered all the mist and halo in its full, round embrace, and
pattered down upon the third finger of her left hand--her wedding-ring
finger--and lay there, clear and sparkling as a diamond!

Norman Mann stooped and laid his hand over it. "You are glad, then!" "I
should be sorry to have you die," said Mae, but her dimples and blushes
and drooping eye-lids said, oh, a great deal more. "Good night," she
fluttered, and ran off.

CHAPTER X.

Mae dreamed happy dreams that night, and awoke with a smile on her lips.
She dressed with the greatest care, put a touch of the color Norman
liked at her throat, and fastened a charm he had given her to her
bracelet. Still, she loitered on her way to the breakfast-room, and when
she seated herself at the table, a sudden embarrassment made her keep
her eyes on her plate, or talk to Eric, or Edith, or any one but Norman.
Yet she was perfectly conscious of his every word and motion. She knew
he only took two cups of coffee instead of three, and that he helped her
to mandarins--a fruit of