thing spilled out below and the tree
went down, and Miss Violet was there. Maybe I should not have found her
if I hadn't fallen."

"Is she pretty?" inquires Jane.

"Oh, she is beautiful! ever so much handsomer than madame."

"I don't think any one can be handsomer than madame," says Jane.

"Now I can go to papa." And Cecil opens his door softly. "O papa, my
hair is all curled," she cries, eagerly, "and----"

Has he a rival already in the child's heart? the child so hard to win!
A curious pang pierces him for a moment. If Miss St. Vincent can gain
hearts so easily, Eugene had better see her, he decides.

The affair is talked of somewhat at the breakfast-table. Floyd Grandon
takes it quietly. Mrs. Grandon reads Cecil a rather sharp lecture, and
the child relapses into silence. Madame Lepelletier considers it
injudicious to make a heroine of Cecil, and seconds her father's
efforts to pass lightly over it. A girl who plays with a doll need fill
no one with anxiety.

So Mr. Grandon drives his little daughter over to the eyrie just in
time to catch Lindmeyer, who is still positive and deeply interested.

"I shall get back as soon as I can next week," he says, "and then I
want to go in the factory at once. I shall be tremendously mistaken if
I do not make it work."

There is a curious touch of shyness about Violet this morning that is
enchanting. She carries off Cecil at once. There sits the lovely doll
in a rocking-chair, and a trunk of elegant clothes that would win any
little girl's heart. Cecil utters an exclamation of joy.

Mr. St. Vincent is very feeble, yet the fire of enthusiasm burns in his
eyes.

"You have the right man," he says, in a tremulous voice that certainly
has lost strength since yesterday; "if he was not compelled to go away;
but he has promised to hurry back."

Grandon chats as long as his time will allow, then he goes to say good
by to Cecil.

"You think you will not tire of her?" and he questions the bright, soft
eyes, the blooming, eager face.

"Oh, no, indeed!"

"Then I will come this evening. Oh," with intense feeling, "you must
know, you do know, how grateful I am!"

Her eyes are full of tears, then she smiles. What a bewitching, radiant
face! He is quite sure it would capture Eugene, and he resolves to
write at once.

"God must have sent you there," he says; then, obeying a strong
impulse, he kisses the white, warm brow, while she bends her head
reverently.

It is a busy an