er corsage, blue against her
blue-green.

They were her symbol for happiness springing up in the face of
despair, and from a soil where you would expect it to be choked. She
herself was happy to-day as she could not remember ever to have been
happy in her life. For the first time she was passing among decent
people decently; and then--it was the great hope beyond which she
didn't look--the prince might read with her again that evening.

But as she turned from Fifth Avenue into East Sixty-seventh Street the
prince was approaching his door from the other direction. Even she was
aware that it was contrary to his habits to appear at home by five in
the afternoon. She didn't know, of course, that Barbara had so
stimulated his enthusiasm for the educational course that he had come
on the chance of taking it up at the tea hour. He could not remember
that Barbara had ever before been so sympathetic to one of his ideas.
The fact encouraged his feeble belief in himself, and made him love
her with richer tenderness.

In the gentle girl of quietly distinguished mien he saw nothing but a
stranger till Beppo strained at his leash and barked. Even then it
took him half a minute to get his powers of recognition into play. He
stopped at the foot of his steps, watching her approach.

By doing so he made the approach more difficult for her. The heart
seemed to stop in her body. She could scarcely breathe. Each step was
like walking on blades, yet like walking on blades with a kind of
ecstasy. Luckily Beppo pranced and pulled in such a way that she was
forced to give him some attention.

The prince's first words were also a distraction from terrors and
enchantments which made her feel faint.

"Where did you get the poor man's coffee?"

The question by puzzling her gave her some relief. Pointing at the
sprays in her corsage he went on:

"That's what the country people often call the chicory weed in
France."

She was able to gasp feebly: "Oh, does it grow there?"

"I think it grows pretty nearly everywhere. It's one of the most
classic wild flowers we know anything about. The ancient Egyptians
dried its leaves to give flavor to their salad, and I remember being
told at Luxor that the modern Copts and Arabs do the same. You see
it's quite a friendly little beast to man."

It eased her other feelings to tell him about the crazy woman in
Canada, and her reading of the dust-flower's significance.

"That's a good idea too," Allert