period.

"Dance? an old fellow like me?"

"You are not old!" and her face is a delicious study of indignation.
"You are not as old as the professor."

"But he did not dance, and Gertrude did not dance."

"Oh," her face clouds over, "are people--do they get too old to dance?"

"They certainly do."

"And you said you would dance with me!" she cries, in despairing
accents.

He laughs heartily, and yet it is very sweet to witness her abandon of
disappointment.

"My darling, I shall not be too old to dance with you until I am bald
and rheumatic and generally shaky," he answers, in a fond tone.

"Then it was because--_was_ it because _I_ was not there?"

"It certainly was"; and he smiles down into the velvety brown eyes.
"And it was very base manners, too."

"Oh," with a long, quivering breath, that moves her whole slender body,
"how thoughtful you were! And did madame dance much?" she asks,
presently. "It must be lovely to see her dance. What did she wear?"

"Violet velvet. Well, the color of some very pale wood violets, such as
I used to find hereabouts when I was a lad. Last summer I found another
kind."

She considers a moment before she sees the point, and then claps her
hands delightedly.

"They are all coming over to call this afternoon, I believe. Isn't
there some sort of pretty gown among those things that came from New
York?"

"Yes, a lovely white cashmere, with bits of purple here and there."

"And I shall carry you down-stairs. We must have a fire made in the
professor's parlor. It will be your reception. The ladies go home on
Saturday."

"And now tell me all about it, last night, I mean. Begin at the very
first," she says, with a bewitching imperiousness.

In spite of himself a quick color goes over his face. The "very first"
was Laura's impossible command. Then he laughs confusedly and
answers,--

"The professor was the earliest guest. Then the train came in and the
people multiplied."

"But I want to hear about the dresses and the music and the lovely
lighted lawn."

The professor comes up and is impressed in the arduous service, but
they are not as much at home as in the description of a ruin, though it
is a great deal merrier. Cecil strays in and climbs over her father's
knee. Her enthusiasm spends itself largely in the kitchen with Denise,
compounding startling dishes, playing house in one corner with a family
of dolls, or talking to the gentle, wise-eyed greyhound.

After lunc