h trust, in which there was not only pride, but
tenderness. Lorimer shook himself together, as he himself would have
expressed it, and touched his friend's arm half-playfully.

"You've met the king's daughter of Norroway after all, Phil;" and his
light accents had a touch of sadness in them; "and you'll have to bring
her home, as the old song says. I believe the 'eligible' is caught at
last. The 'woman' of the piece has turned up, and your chum must play
second fiddle--eh, old boy?"

Errington flushed hotly, but caught Lorimer's hand and pressed it with
tremendous fervor.

"By Jove, I'll wring it off your wrist if you talk in that fashion,
George!" he said, with a laugh. "You'll always be the same to me, and
you know it. I tell you," and he pulled his moustache doubtfully, "I
don't know quite what's the matter with me. That girl fascinates me! I
feel a fool in her presence. Is that a sign of being in love I wonder?"

"Certainly not!" returned George promptly; "for _I_ feel a fool in her
presence, and I'm not in love."

"How do you know that?" And Errington glanced at him keenly and
inquiringly.

"How do I know? Come, I like that! Have I studied myself all these years
for nothing? Look here,"--and he carefully drew out the little withering
bunch of daisies he had purloined--"these are for you. I knew you wanted
them, though you hadn't the impudence to pick them up, and I had. I
thought you might like to put them under your pillow, and all that sort
of thing, because if one is resolved to become love-lunatic, one may as
well do the thing properly out and out,--I hate all half-measures. Now,
if the remotest thrill of sentiment were in me, you can understand, I
hope, that wild horses would not have torn this adorable posy from my
possession! I should have kept it, and you would never have known of
it," and he laughed softly. "Take it, old fellow! You're rich now, with
the rose she gave you besides. What is all your wealth compared with the
sacred preciousness of such blossoms! There, don't look so awfully
estactic, or I shall be called upon to ridicule you in the interests of
common sense. So you're in love with the girl at once, and have done
with it. Don't beat about the bush!"

"I'm not sure about it," said Philip, taking the daisies gratefully,
however, and pressing them in his pocket-book. "I don't believe in love
at first sight!"

"I do," returned Lorimer decidedly. "Love is electricity. Two telegrams
are en