Just then Hazel entered the room, a poem of grace; a rose glow overspread her soft cheeks, while her eyes sparkled with health and vivacity. Rutley's eyes at once betrayed his admiration. The girl was quick to notice it and immediately evinced her pleasure by advancing straight to his side. "Good morning, My Lord. When I plucked this beauty," displaying a slender stemmed white chrysanthemum which was held between her fingers, "I instinctively felt that it was to adorn the breast of a distinguished friend, and now see where it flies for rest," and she smilingly fastened the flower to the lapel of his coat. "I shall proudly treasure it, for without doubt its chrysalis chastity is jealous of its human rival, hence the parting of the two flowers. Is it not so?" questioned Rutley, with the most winsome, yet grave smile he could fashion. "Hazel--the Lady Beauchamp, sounds quite recherche," Mrs. Harris whispered to Mr. Harris. "Looks as if it might be a go," he responded in like tones. "It is white and pretty," Hazel murmured, casting a demure glance at her own faultlessly white dress and then naively remarked, while a serious question stole over her countenance: "I have just come from the water front, where I have been watching the men drag for poor little Dorothy." "Poor child! So sad to be drowned!" said Mrs. Harris, in a reflective mood. "Or stolen!" exclaimed Mr. Harris. "I shall not give up hope until that old cripple is located." Only Hazel noticed the swift glance Rutley shot at Mr. Harris, but she gave it no significance. "Poor fellow, he feels the loss of his child very deeply," continued Mr. Harris. "Yesterday Thorpe was in one of the boats for three hours. My Lord may see them dragging the river from the piazza." Whereupon Mr. Harris and Rutley went out on the piazza, leaving Mrs. Harris and Hazel by themselves. "Hazel, dear," spoke Mrs. Harris softly and confidentially, "there is a lady's tiara awaiting you, if my judgment is not faulty." "He seems to be a nice sort of man," replied the girl. "A nice sort of man!" remarked Mrs. Harris, astonished. "Why, Hazel! He is one of the nobility. Superior, distinguished! Do you note his condescending air? It is hereditary, my dear. Conscious of being above us, yet every look and move indicates a study to make a descent to our level." "Notwithstanding--I think--well--I prefer Joe!" demurely insisted the maid. "He is not quite so polished, but--I like him better, anyway." "What! A commoner to a lord? A straw hat to a lady's tiara? Why, Hazel!" "That is my choice," replied the girl, quietly but firmly. Hazel's calm dignity irritated Mrs. Harris, and she remarked with a puzzled expression of countenance, "Dear me! I never could understand the fountain of your democratic ideas, Hazel; and the enigma is deeper to me now than ever."