me
himself to the jeweller's--"

"What is it?" asked Isabel, impatiently, her eyes on a long box Gwynne
had taken from his pocket.

But Gwynne seldom had an opportunity to tease her. He drew his finger
along the heavy coil of hair that rose from the very nape of her neck
and pushed forward a soft little mass on to the brow. "I have always
wanted to see something here," he said. "I remember once seeing a lovely
print of the Empress Elizabeth of Austria, who wore her hair somewhat as
you do--"

"Not a bit of it. Her hair was generally half-way down her back--"

"Well the effect was the same--and in this print she had a row of
daisies or stars; I never could remember which--"

"You haven't brought me daisies?" said Isabel, in disgust.

Gwynne pressed the little gilt nob, and as the lid flew up Isabel cried
out, with delight.

"You shouldn't! But I don't care! I said I wouldn't. I never expected
anything so gorgeous, though--"

She caught the box from his hand and fastened the diamond stars in the
line he had indicated. There were five, graduated in size, and they gave
her beauty its final touch of poetry and light. Isabel gazed at her
dazzling reflection with parted lips and dancing eyes, then turned
impulsively, flung her arms about Gwynne's neck, and kissed him. He
pushed her away roughly.

"Don't do that again!" he said. "I am not your brother, nor one of your
girl friends. Can I look about? I have always had a curiosity to see
this room. I had an idea that it was different from the one at the
ranch."

"You can look at what you like," said Isabel, indifferently. "I shall
look at my stars. _Madre de Dios!_ as our Spanish ancestors would have
said. _Ay yi! Valgame Dios! Dios de mi alma! Dios de mi vida!_ I never
was so happy in my life."

Gwynne walked about the large old-fashioned room with its bow-window,
and alcove for the bed. He had half expected that the room he had so
often passed with reluctant steps would be furnished in blue or pink,
but it was as red as that of the traditional queen. Isabel had brought
up all the old crimson damask curtains that had been fashionable in her
grandmother's time, and covered the windows and walls of her bedroom,
even the head of the mahogany four-poster in which her mother and
herself had been born. The carpet was new, but a dull crimson, like the
faded hangings, and the dressing-table with its quantity of chased
silver--one of the few inheritances she had managed to