ot watching her with challenging, curious eyes to note the effect as
before, but, like the true artist that he was, bending earnestly to the
task of bringing comfort and consolation to her heart.

It was Beethoven that touched her most. Under the influence of his
divine music Bee felt her heart strings relax, and as the mighty climax
of the last movement swelled into ecstacy, infinite as the human soul,
she burst into a flood of tears. At a glance from his mother Percival
stole softly into the house, while the lady drew the girl into her arms.

"There!" she said, smoothing her hair gently. "That will do you good, my
child."

Petting was what the girl needed, and soon her emotion spent itself.
When at last she was calm she looked up contritely.

"I should not have come over, and made so much trouble," she said.
"Forgive me, Mrs. Medulla; I will go home now. Thank you--"

"My dear," spoke the lady, drawing her back into her embrace, "suppose
you tell me all about it."

Beatrice looked at her quickly, but seeing the sympathy in the older
woman's eyes she broke out impulsively:

"I will. I will tell you the whole thing." Rapidly she poured forth all
her grief. Told of Adele's changing the pictures, of her father's return
and of his mistake in taking Adele for his daughter; of her cousin's
beauty, and of her efforts to be like her; of her studies with her
father; of the butterfly dinner, and of her belief that with time she
could win his love; and finally of Adele's coming; ending with, "If only
I were pretty my father would love me, I know. If only I were pretty!"

"That is a woman's cry, child," observed the lady thoughtfully. "The
desire for beauty is in every feminine heart. A pretty complexion, a
captivating dimple, bright eyes and flowing tresses are desired more
than all knowledge of books, or graces of the mind."

"I know," sighed the girl.

"Now, dear, you and I are going to have a little talk."

"Dear lady," spoke Bee in pleading tones, "don't, don't tell me that
'Handsome is that handsome does,' or that beauty of mind and soul will
cause others to forget that one is homely. Father says that too, but he
would not have come had he not thought that his daughter was a beautiful
girl."

"I am not going to say those things, child." Mrs. Medulla laughed. "I am
not fond of platitudes myself, although there is much truth in them.
Now, child, you feel hard toward your cousin for changing those
pictures, don't