nglish poets.
Lady Ethelrida picked them up delightedly. They, too, were works of art,
in their soft mauve morocco bindings, _chiffre_, with her monogram like
the other, and tooled with gold.

"How enchanting!" she said. "And look! They match my room. How could you
have guessed--?" And then she broke off and again looked down.

"You told me, the night I dined with you at Glastonbury House, that you
loved mauve as a color and that violets were your favorite flower. How
could I forget?" And he permitted himself to come a step nearer to her.

She did not move away. She turned over the leaves of the English volume
rather hurriedly. The paper was superlatively fine and the print a gem
of art. And then she looked up, surprised.

"I have never seen this collection before," she said wonderingly. "All
the things one loves under the same cover!" And then she turned to the
title-page to see which edition it was; and she found that, as far as
information went, it was blank. Simply,

"To The Lady Ethelrida Montfitchet
from
"F.M."

was inscribed upon it in gold. A deep pink flush grew on her delicate
face, and she dared not raise her eyes.

It would be too soon yet to tell her everything that was in his heart,
he reasoned. All could be lost by one false step. So, with his masterly
self-control, he resisted all temptation to fold her in his arms, and
said gently:

"I thought it would be nice to have, as you say, 'all the bits one
loves' put together; and I have a very intelligent friend at my
book-binder's, who, when I had selected them, had them all arranged and
printed for me, and bound as I thought you might wish. It will gratify
me greatly, if it has pleased you."

"Pleased me!" she said, and now she looked up; for the sudden conviction
came to her, that to have this done took time and a great deal of money;
and except once or twice before, casually, she had never met him until
the evening, when, among a number of her father's political friends, he
had dined at their London house. When could he have given the order and
what could this mean? He read her thoughts.

"Yes," he said simply. "From the very first moment I ever saw you, Lady
Ethelrida, to me you seemed all that was true and beautiful, the
embodiment of my ideal of womanhood. I planned these books then, two
days after I dined with you at Glastonbury House; and, if you had
refused them, it would have caused