eggs--twenty beauties. But above all
memories stood out one! As he bent close above her he caught for the
first time in his life the delicate perfume of her dark rich hair and
felt the thrill of its mystery.

"It's their little home, isn't it, Jim!" she exclaimed.

"I hope I can build as snug a nest for you some day, Nan!" he whispered
gravely.

And when she stood silent and blushing, he made the final plunge.
Looking straight into her dark eyes he had said:

"I love you, dear Nan!"

As she stood very still, looking down in silence, with a throb of fear
and aching tenderness he dared to slip his arm around her waist and
kiss the trembling lips. And then he noticed for the first time a deep
red strawberry stain in the corner of her mouth. In spite of her
struggles he laughingly insisted on kissing it away--a fact which led
to his first revelation of her character--could he ever forget the
glory and wonder of it! She had seized his arms, gasping for breath.

"Don't--don't, Jim--I can't stand that any more!" And then as a dreamy
smile stole into her face she suddenly threw her own arms around his
neck in passionate tenderness, returning with interest every kiss he
had taken--

"Straw--berries!"

The man looked up and drawled his familiar cry.

"Yes--Yes!" he shouted. "Two boxes. Put them on the stoop--and keep the
change!"

He threw the man a silver dollar, and the white teeth of the Italian
signalled a smile of thanks as he bowed low, lifting his dirty cap in
acknowledgment.

Nor was Nan's beauty merely a memory, it was the living presence, the
source of the joy that filled his soul to overflowing to-day, for she
had grown more beautiful than ever since her mother had moved to New
York.

He had always believed that the real reason in the back of Mrs.
Primrose's shallow head for this move to the North had been the
determination to break his engagement and make a more brilliant
marriage for Nan. And so when they left he followed.

The mother had always professed for him unbounded loyalty and
admiration. But he had never been deceived. He knew that Mrs. Primrose
lied as she breathed--politely, but continuously--by her involuntary
muscles. Day and night since they had reached New York she had schemed
for Nan. She had joined every society, club, and coterie into which she
could buy, push, or manoeuvre her way. She had used her Revolutionary
ancestry and high social standing in the old South as the entering