She flung herself down on the kitchen lounge for her usual evening nap after tea, and her daughter, still laughing at the ridiculous suit of her aged wooer, hastened outdoors to the front gate to watch every passer-by with a throbbing heart, in the eager hope of his coming--his, her lover, for she would call him that in spite of a hundred Rosalinds! It was false what they said of his betrothal to the proud, rich beauty, with her flax-gold hair and bluebell eyes. She could never believe it, never, after all that had passed to-day--the bow, the flashing glance of love, the gift of the roses. Presently he would be coming to tell her that he loved her, and her alone. It was one of those moonlight nights in early September, that seem like June. The full moon shone in a cloudless sky, sown thick with stars; the air was warm and fragrant, and seemed to pulsate with love. Every girl remembers how on such a night she has hung over the front gate, gowned in white, with a rose in her hair, waiting and watching for a lover dearer to her heart than all the world beside! Berenice did not watch long in vain, for it was a true presentiment that told her the idol of her heart was coming. Men and women passed and repassed for almost an hour, but at last her heart leaped with subtle ecstasy, for one paused and stood in front of her, gazing down with a smile into her starry eyes. “Ah, Miss Vining, good evening!” cried a musical voice. “You see, I have found out your name. Mine is Charley Bonair. Do you remember me?” CHAPTER III. SWEETHEARTS. Remember him? ah! Berry could have laughed aloud at the tender question. She knew that she could never forget his glance and smile of this morning her whole life long. Yet, with her pretty head poised, coquettishly, on one side, and her eyes half veiled under their shady lashes, she faltered demurely: “I--I--believe you are the same gentleman that passed with Miss Montague this morning, and bowed to me.” “Yes, you are right,” he answered, with a soft laugh, as he leaned his elbows on the gate with his face very close to her, while he continued tenderly: “And from the first moment I saw your lovely face I could not get you out of my mind. I asked Miss Montague who was that pretty young girl, and she frowned at me, and said: ‘There’s not a pretty face that can escape you, Charley; but that is only little Berry Vining, the daughter of a poor tailoress, not in our set at all, so don’t ask for an introduction.’” Berry’s cheeks grew hot, and her heart thumped with anger as she said to herself: “I’ll pay you out for that, my proud lady, by taking him away from you!” Handsome Charley Bonair continued wheedlingly: “As I couldn’t get properly introduced to you, I thought I’d present myself. I see you are wearing some of my roses.”