idge Sewall at her Beautiful Estate in
Hilton. Wedding Set for Early December."

I read the announcement two or three times, and afterward the fine
print below, containing a long list of the luncheon guests with
Edith's name proudly in its midst. The scene of my shame and the
actors flashed before me. Ignominy and defeat were no part of the new
creature I had become since Lucy's tea. I read the announcement again.
It was as if a dark cloud passed high over my head and cast a shadow
on the sparkling beauty of the brook beside which I had been lingering
for nearly two weeks.

CHAPTER XII

A DINNER PARTY

Robert Jennings sees the plainest and commonest things of life through
the eyes of an artist. He never goes anywhere without a volume of poetry
stuffed into his pocket, and if he runs across anything that no one else
has endowed with beauty, then straightway he will endow it himself.
Crowded trolleys, railroad stations, a muddy road--all have some hidden
appeal. Even greed and discord he manages to ignore as such by looking
beneath their exteriors for hidden significance. The simpler a pleasure,
the greater to him its joy.

He is tall, broad; of light complexion; vigorous in every movement that
he makes. Upon his face there is a perpetual glow, whether due to mere
color, or to expression, I cannot make up my mind. He enters the house
and brings with him a feeling of out-of-doors. His smile is like
sunshine on white snow, his seriousness like a quiet pool hidden among
trees, his enthusiasm like mad whitecaps on a lake stirred by a gale,
his tenderness like the kind warmth of Indian summer caressing drooping
flowers. I have never known any one just like him before. Instead of
inviting me in town to luncheon and the matinee, or to dinner and the
opera, he takes me out with him to drink draughts of cold November air,
and to share the glory of an autumn sunset.

The first time he called he mentioned a course at Shirley offered to
special students. I told him if he would use his influence and persuade
the authorities to accept me, I believed I should like to take a course
in college. I thought it would help to kill time while I was making up
my mind how better to dispose of myself. I have therefore become what
Mr. Jennings thought I was in the beginning--a student at Shirley; not a
full-fledged one but a "special" in English. I attend class twice a week
and in between times write compositions that are read out lo