"I beg your pardon, Miss Carroll," said the offender, with a teasing look in his blue eyes, which she did not see; "I did not mean to offend, but do you know that in talking with you, I constantly find myself under the impression that I am talking to your sister. It is one effect of the wonderful resemblance, I presume." "Yes, I suppose so," admitted Lora; "but," she continued, in a tone of pretty, girlish pique, "I wish you would try and recollect the difference. I am two years younger than my sister, remember, and so it is not a compliment to be taken for a person older than myself!" "Of course not," said Mr. Templeton, soothingly; "but it was the ring, please remember, that led me into error this time. You see, I gave it to----" "Yes, you gave it to Xenie," broke in Lora, promptly and coolly; "yes, I know that, but you see she was tired of it, or rather she did not care for it any more--so she gave it to me." His face whitened angrily, but he said, with assumed carelessness: "And you--do you care for it, Miss Carroll?" She lifted her hand and looked at the flashing ruby with a smile. "Yes, I like it. It is very handsome, and must have cost a large sum of money--more than I ever saw, probably, at one time in my life, I suppose, for I am poor, as you know." "I thought we were going to have some music, Lora," exclaimed Mrs. Carroll, gasping audibly over her knitting. "You weary Mr. Templeton with your idle talk." "He began it, mamma," said Lora, carelessly. "Well, Mr. Templeton, I'm going to begin the accompaniment. Get ready." She touched the keys with skillful fingers, waking a soft, melancholy prelude, and Howard sang in his full, rich, tenor voice: "'Hapless doom of woman happy in betrothing! Beauty passes like a breath, and love is lost in loathing; Low, my lute; speak low, my lute, but say the world is nothing-- Low, lute, low! "'Love will hover round the flowers when they first awaken; Love will fly the fallen leaf, and not be overtaken; Low, my lute! oh, low, my lute! we fade and are forsaken-- Low, dear lute, low!'" "The poet has very happily blended truth and poesy in that very pathetic song," remarked Lora, with a touch of careless scorn in her voice, as the rich notes ceased. "Well, Mr. Templeton, will you try another song?" "No, thank you, Miss Carroll--I must be going. I have already trespassed upon your time and patience." Lora did not gainsay the assertion. She rose with an almost audible sigh of relief, and stood waiting for him to say good-night. "May I come and see you again?" he asked, as he bowed over the delicate hand that wore his ruby ring. "I--we--that is, mamma and I--are going away soon. It may not--perhaps--be convenient for us to receive you again," stammered Lora, hesitating and blushing like the veriest school-girl. "Ah! I am sorry," he said; "well, then, good-night, and good-bye."