accent and idiom; adding, with a slight smile, "I
did not overlook you, but you were so busily contemplating other ground
that it would have been cruelty to disturb you." He spoke the language
slowly, as a stranger upon foreign ground.

"Oh, yes; I forgot. Dr. Kemp, are you acquainted with the Queen of Sheba
and her doughty knight Louis, surnamed Arnold?" She paused a moment as
the parties acknowledged the curious introduction, and then broke in
rather breathlessly: "There, Doctor, I shall leave you with royalty; do
not let your republican ignorance forget her proper title. Mr. Arnold,
Mrs. Merrill is beckoning to us; will you come?" and with a naive,
superbly impish look at Ruth, she drew Arnold away before he could
murmur an excuse.

At the impertinent words the soft, rich blood suffused Ruth's face.

"Will you sit here awhile and wait for Mr. Arnold, or shall we go and
see the orchids?" The pleasant, deep voice broke in upon her confusion
and calmed her self-consciousness. She raised her eyes to the dark,
clever face above her; it was a strong, rather than a handsome face.
From the broad sweep of the forehead above the steady scrutiny of the
gray eyes, to the grave lip and firm chin under the dark, pointed beard,
strength and gentleness spoke in every line. His personality bore the
stamp of a letter of credit.

"Thank you," said she; "I think I shall sit here. My cousin will
probably be back soon."

The doctor seated himself beside her. Miss Gwynne's appellation was
not inaptly chosen, still he would have preferred to know her more
conventional title.

"This is a peaceful little corner," he said. "Do you notice how removed
it seems from the rest of the room?"

"Yes," she answered, meeting and disconcerting his pleasantly
questioning look with one of swift resolve. "Dr. Kemp, I wish to tell
you that my father has confided to me your joint secret."

"Your father?" he looked bewildered; his knowledge of the Queen of
Sheba's progenitors was vague.

"My father, yes," she repeated, smiling at his perplexity. "Our name is
not very common; I am Jules Levice's daughter."

He was about to exclaim "NO!" The kinship seemed ridiculous in the face
of this lovely girl and the remembered picture of the little plain-faced
Jew. What he did say was,--

"Mr. Levice is an esteemed friend of mine. He is present, is he not?"

"Yes. Have you met my mother yet?"

The mother would probably unravel the mysterious origin of thi