the unrolling and led the chorus of "Oh, how
lovely!" herself, when an Imari jar, with carved teakwood stand, was
brought to light. So exquisite was it in glaze, form, and color that
for a moment no one thought of the donor. Then their curiosity got the
better of them and they began to search through the wrappings for
the card. It wasn't in the box; it wasn't hidden in the final bag;
it wasn't--here a bright thought now flashed through the dear lady's
brain--down went her shapely hand into the depths of the tall jar, and
up came an envelope bearing Ruth's name and enclosing a card which made
the grande dame catch her breath.

"Mr. Isaac Cohen! What--the little tailor!" she gasped out. "The Jew!
Well, upon my word--did you ever hear of such impudence!"

Isaac would have laughed the harder could he have seen her face.

Jack caught up the vase and ran with it to Ruth, who burst out with
another: "Oh, what a beauty!" followed by "Who sent it?"

"A gentleman journeyman tailor, my darling," said Jack, with a flash of
his eye at Peter, his face wreathed in smiles.

And with the great day--a soft November day--summer had lingered on
a-purpose--came the guests: the head of the house of Breen and his
wife--not poor Corinne, of course, who poured out her heart in a letter
instead, which she entrusted to her mother to deliver; and Holker Morris
and Mrs. Morris, and the Fosters and the Granthams and Wildermings and
their wives and daughters and sons, and one stray general, who stopped
over on his way to the West, and who said when he entered, looking
so very grand and important, that he didn't care whether he had been
invited to the ceremony or not, at which Miss Felicia was delighted,
he being a major-general on the retired list, and not a poor tailor
who--no, we won't refer to that again; besides a very, VERY select
portion of the dear lady's townspeople--the house being small, as she
explained, and Miss MacFarlane's intimates and acquaintances being both
importunate and numerous.

And with the gladsome hour came the bride.

None of us will ever forget her. Not only was she a vision of rare
loveliness, but there was in her every glance and movement that
stateliness and grace that poise and sureness of herself that marks the
high-born woman the world over when she finds herself the cynosure of
all eyes.

All who saw her descend Miss Felicia's stairs held their breath in
adoration: Not a flight of steps at all, but a Jacob