rthfully, "it would be sad to make a mistake now,
for I can't help loving Polly."

"Why should you? I am so glad you love her with your whole soul, for
you _do_. She will always be my dearest friend, and if you neglect
her or make her unhappy----"

"Oh, you _are_ an angel, Violet!" he cries, with actual humility. "You
are never jealous or hurt, you praise so generously, you are always
thinking how other people must be made happy. You give away everything!
I am not worth so much consideration," the crust of self-love is
pierced for a moment and shows in the tremulous voice, "but I mean to
make myself more of a man. And I can never love you any less
because----"

"Because you love Rome more," and she compels herself to give a
rippling laugh. "That is the right, true love of your life, the others
have been illusions."

"Not my love for you," he declares, stoutly. "It will always hold,
though it has changed a little. Only I wish you were----" Can he, dare
he say, "happier"?

"Don't wish anything more for me!" and she throws up her hand with a
kind of wild entreaty. "There is so much now that I can never get
around to all. You must think only of Polly's happiness."

"Which will no doubt keep me employed"; and he laughs lightly. "By
Jove! there won't be much meandering in forbidden pastures with Polly
at hand! You wouldn't believe now that she was jealous last night,
because I fastened a rose in poor Lucia's hair that had come loose.
Wouldn't there have been a row if I had given it to her? But she is
never angry jealous like some girls, nor sulky; there is a charm--I
cannot describe it," confesses the lover in despair. "But we three
shall always be the best of friends."

"Always," with a convulsive emphasis. She has no need to insist that he
shall thrust her out of his soul. She can take his regard without fear
or dismay. She slips down from her seat on the window ledge, and they
go to find Pauline and devote the remainder of the evening to music.

A few days after the two go to the city to see a wonderful picture of
Gerome's just arrived. They stop at Mrs. Latimer's, who promises to
accompany them if they will stay to lunch, and they spend the
intervening time in the nursery. A rollicking baby is Polly's delight,
a baby who can be pinched and squeezed and kissed and bitten without
agonizing howls.

At the table Gertrude's departure is mentioned.

"Oh," exclaims Mrs. Latimer, "has Mr. Grandon resolved to go? John