some tired wayfarer may
come in and rest. We are so prodigal in youth," and she sighs with
seductive regret, while her beautiful eyes droop; "we scatter or throw
away the pearls offered us, and later we are glad to go over the way
and gather them up, if haply no other traveller has been before us."

He is thinking,--not of the past, as she hopes,--but of her gifts for
making an elegant home. His sisters seem crude and untrained beside
her. He can imagine such a lovely place with her in the centre, the Old
World refinement grafted on the new vigor and earnest purpose.

"Yes," he answers, rousing himself. She sees the effort, and allows a
thrill to speed along her pulses. "But--there is no haste, surely? You
would not want to go to the city until cool weather. I hope to be there
a good deal myself this winter. I have some plans,--if I can ever get
this business off my mind."

There is a curious little exultation in her heart now, but her moods
and features are well trained. Her face is full of sympathy as she
raises her beguiling eyes.

"It is a difficult place to fill, to give satisfaction," she says, "and
you are so new to business. As I remember, you did not like it in the
old days."

"No." He gives a short laugh. "And, thinking of myself, I find more
excuse for Eugene's distaste. Yet if I were to let it go, the family
fortunes would go with it, and I might justly be blamed. I must keep it
for the year, at all events."

"Is it--very bad?" she asks, timidly.

"I cannot seem to get any true understanding of the case. When Mr. St.
Vincent comes back we shall go at it in real earnest. And, in any
event, your portion shall be made safe."

"Oh, do not think of that, it is such a mere trifle! I supposed mamma
had drawn it all out until I looked over her papers. Then I had a
notice of the settlement, but I should have come home in any event.
I had grown tired of Europe, very tired. I dare say you think me
_ennuied_, whimsical."

"Indeed, I do not," warmly. "Home is to a woman what the setting is to
a diamond. And though the advice of such a rambler may not be worth
much, still, whatever I can do----"

He pauses and his eye rests upon her, takes in her exceeding beauty,
grace, and repose; the admirable fitness for every little exigency that
society training gives. She seems a part of the morning picture, and
akin to the fresh, odorous air, the soft yet glowing sun, the rippling
river, the changeful melody of flitt