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lancing eyes of Dr. Kemp. "Good-evening," she said, holding out her disengaged hand, which he grasped and shook heartily. "Is it Santa Filomena?" he asked, smiling into her eyes. "No, only Ruth Levice, who is pleased to see you. Will you step into the library? We are having a little home evening together." "Thank you. Directly." He slipped out of his topcoat, and turning quietly to her, said, "But before we go in, and I enact the odd number, I wish to say a few words to you alone, please." She bent a look of inquiry upon him, and meeting the gaze of his compelling eyes, led him across the hall into the drawing-room. He noticed how the soft light she held made her the only white spot in the dark room, till, touching a tall silver lamp, she threw a rosy halo over everything. That it was an exquisite, graceful apartment he felt at a glance. She placed her candle upon a tiny rococo table, and seated herself in a quaint, low chair overtopped by two tiny ivory horns that spread like hands of blessing above her head. The doctor declined to sit down, but stood with one hand upon the fragile table and looked down at her. "I am inclined to think, after all," he said slowly, "that you are in truth the divine lady with the light. It is a pretty name and a pretty fame,--that of Santa Filomena." What had come over her eyelids that they refused to be raised? "I think," he continued with a low laugh, "that I shall always call you so, and have all rights reserved. May I?" "I am afraid," she answered, raising her eyes, "that your poem would be without rhyme or reason; a candle is too slight a thing for such an assumption." "But not a Rose Delano. I saw her to-day, and at least one sufferer would turn to kiss your shadow. Do you know what a wonderfully beautiful thing you have done? I came to-night to thank you; for any one who makes good our ideals is a subject for thanks. Of course, the thing had no personal bearing upon myself; but being an officious fellow, I thought it proper to let you know that I know. That is my only excuse for coming." "Did you need an excuse?" "That, or an invitation." "Oh, I never thought of you--as--as--" "As a man?" How to answer this? Then finally she said,-- "As caring to waste an evening." "Would it be a waste? There is an old adage that one might adapt, then, 'A wilful waste makes a woful want.' Want is a bad thing, so economy would not be a half-bad idea. Shall
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