as he approached, that
Lily without her spectacles was beginning to have a look of Brenda,--a
Brenda with less beauty, but more originality; more--what could one call
it?--geniality, perhaps.

"Oh, Gerald!"--the little girl caught his hand without ceasing for more
than a second to watch the ball-room floor,--"I have promised to go home
willingly at ten o'clock!" It was spoken in a gentle wail.

"My child," said Fraeulein, "you must begin to prepare, for I fear it
cannot be far from ten."

"Oh, Fraeulein, don't keep talking about it! _Please!_"

"When you leave this pleasure, Lili, remember, there will be still that
other pleasure of the long ride home in the night and the moonlight."

"Yes." Lily, glad again, turned wholly to Gerald, the music having
stopped. "Mrs. Hawthorne told mother that if she would let me come I
should be taken home in her own carriage, with all the furs around us
and a hot water-box for our feet, so that we never could catch cold.
Wasn't it sweet of her? And we've both already had ices and cakes,
before anybody else, because she said we must. Don't you think she's
sweet, Gerald?"

"Sweet as honey," he said.

"Oh, Gerald,"--Lily's tone was fairly lamentable,--"have you seen the
baskets of favors that are going to be given away by and by? There are
roses of red silk, and lilies of white velvet, and chocolate cigars, and
fans, and bonbonnieres, and silver bangles! Then funny ones of little
monkeys and ducks and things. And I have to go home willingly,
cheerfully, promptly, at ten o'clock!"

"Lily, if any lady is so good and so misguided as to honor me with a
favor, I will bring it to you in my pocket to-morrow or soon after, I
promise."

"What hour is it, Herr Fane?" asked Fraeulein over Lily's head.

Gerald drew out his watch and hesitated, sincerely sorry.

"To be exact, it is three minutes and three quarters to ten," he said.

Lily's mouth dropped open, and out of the small dark hollow one could
fear for a second that a cry of protest or revolt might come; but the
very next moment it was seen that Lily had returned to be the best child
in the world and the most honorable.

"Good night, Gerald!" she said, with a wistfully willing, cheerful,
ready face. "You won't forget?"

He was left in the oval room, and as the dancers who had come in to
occupy its seats seemed all to be in pairs, he remained aloof. He took
the occasion to have a look at the panels, which he had not before seen,