beautiful god I cannot imagine," she said, half aloud.

Rupert turned with an inquiring look on his face, but he got nothing
more from her, as she was busy with a peach. Her straw hat was tilted
back on her head, and the wavy brown hair was somewhat in confusion.
School teaching had not, as yet, driven the roses from her cheeks, nor
the smiles from her lips. There was just enough of daylight left so
that Rupert could see Miss Wilton's big eye looking into his own. How
beautiful she was!

"Mr. Ames, before we get back to the company, I wish to ask you a
question. Mr. Holm has asked me to sing at his concert, and I should
like to help him, if the school trustees do not object."

"Why should they, Miss Wilton?"

"Well, some people, you know, are so peculiar."

"I assure you they will not care--that is, if it will not interfere with
your school duties."

"As to that, not a moment. I need no rehearsals as I am used to--that is
I--you see, I will sing some old song."

Miss Wilton's speech became unusually confused, and Rupert noticed it;
but just then Nina and her escort joined them, and they all went back to
the lawn.

"Miss Wilton's going to sing at the concert," Volmer told Rupert later
in the evening. "'Twill be a big help. She's a regular opera singer, you
know. She's been in the business. I heard her sing in Denver two years
ago, and she was with a troupe that passed through here some time since.
I remember her well, but of course I wouldn't say anything to her about
it. No doubt she wishes to forget it all."

"What do you mean?" asked Rupert, quite fiercely.

"I mean that her company then was not of the choicest, but I believe
she's all right and a good enough girl. Rupe, don't bother about that.
Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything to you."

"Oh, that's all right. I'm glad you mentioned it."

Still a dull, miserable pain fastened itself in Rupert Ames' heart the
rest of the evening; and even when the company had gone, and Miss Wilton
had lingered and sweetly said "Good-night," and the lights were out,
strange thoughts and feelings drove from his eyes the sleep that usually
came peacefully to him.

Rupert Ames was in love. The fact became the central idea of his
existence.

During Rupert's busy life, love affairs had not occupied much of his
attention. Of course, he, in common with the rest of young mankind,
thought that some day he would love some girl and make her his wife; but
it was always as a