ont door, Richard had
the felicity of coming in with the before-mentioned daily sheaf of
roses. Richard and the blossom-bearing colored youth entered together,
the door making the one opening to admit both; and by this fortunate
chance--which Richard the wily had waited around the corner to
secure--he was given the joy of seeing and hearing the beautiful Dorothy
gurgle over the flowers.

"And to think," cried Dorothy, her nose in the bosom of a rose, "no one
knows from whom they come! Mamma thinks Count Storri sends them. It's so
good of him, if he does!"

Dorothy's head was bowed over the flowers. As she spoke, however, her
blue eye, full of mischief, watched Richard through a silken lock of
hair that had fallen forward.

"But you don't think it's Storri?" cried Richard dolorously.

"Oh, no!" returned Dorothy, shaking her head with wise decision, "I
don't think it's Count Storri. But of course I wouldn't tell mamma so;
she doesn't like to be contradicted. Still," and here Dorothy looked
quite wistful, "I wish I knew who did send them."

Before Richard could take up the delicate question of the roses and
their origin, there arrived the word of Senator Hanway that he be shown
into the study.

"Now that I'm a working journalist, Miss Harley," said Richard, "I shall
be obliged to see your uncle every day."

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Dorothy, with a fine sympathy; "how hard they
drive you poor newspaper people!"

"Still, we go not without our rewards," returned Richard.

Then observing that Senator Hanway's messenger--who had not those
reasons for loitering which made slow the feet of Richard--was already
halfway down the hall, Richard took Dorothy's small hand in his, and,
before she knew her peril or might make an effort to avoid it,
rapturously kissed the fingers, not once, not twice, but five times. The
very fingers themselves burned with the scandal of it! Following this
deed of rapine, Richard went his vandal way; Dorothy's face turned a
twin red with the roses.

Dorothy said nothing in rebuke of Richard, and it is to be assumed that,
so flagrant an outrage left her without breath to voice her
condemnation. That she was disturbed to the heart is sure, for she went
instantly to her friend, the sibyl of the golden locks, for conference,
confidence, and consolation.

"Wasn't he wretchedly bold, Bess?" said Dorothy in an awe-stricken
whisper.

"Absolutely abandoned!" said Bess.

Then the two sat in silence f