“She has,” laughed Helen; “I really think she must mean to make me marry a rich husband, or else she'd never have left me at that great rich school; Lucy and I were the 'star-boarders' you know, and we just had everybody to spoil us. How in the world could you ever manage to spare so much money, Daddy?” “Oh, it was not so much,” said Mr. Davis; “things are cheaper abroad.” (As a matter of fact, the grimly resolute Aunt Polly had paid two-thirds of her niece's expenses secretly, besides distributing pocket money with lavish generosity.) “And you should see the wonderful dresses I've brought from Paris,” Helen went on. “Oh, Daddy, I tell you I shall be glorious! Aunt Polly's going to invite a lot of people at her house next week to meet me, and I'm going to wear the reddest of red, red dresses, and just shine like a lighthouse!” “I'm afraid,” said the clergyman, surveying her with more pride than was perhaps orthodox, “I'm afraid you'll find it hard to be satisfied in this poor little home of ours.” “Oh, that's all right,” said Helen; “I'll soon get used to it; and besides, I've got plenty of things to fix it up with--if you'll only get those dreadful theological works out of the front room! Daddy dear, you can't imagine how hard it is to bring the Valkyries and Niebelungs into a theological library.” “I'll see what I can do, my love,” said Mr. Davis. He was silent for a few moments, perhaps wondering vaguely whether it was well that this commanding young lady should have everything in the world she desired; Helen, who had her share of penetration, probably divined the thought, for she made haste to change the subject. “By the way,” she laughed, “we got so interested in our chattering that we forgot all about Arthur.” “Sure enough,” exclaimed the other. “Pray where can he have gone?” “I don't know,” Helen said; “it's strange. But poets are such queer creatures!” “Arthur is a very splendid creature,” said Mr. Davis. “You have no idea, Helen, how hard he has labored since you have been away. He carried off all the honors at college, and they say he has written some good poetry. I don't know much about that, but the people who know tell me so.” “It would be gloriously romantic to know a great poet,” said Helen, “and perhaps have him write poetry about you,--'Helen, thy beauty is to me,' and 'Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss,' and all sorts of things like that! He's coming to live with us this summer as usual, isn't he, Daddy?” “I don't know,” said the other; “I presume he will. But where can he have gone to-day?” “He acted very queerly,” said the girl; and then suddenly a delighted smile lit up her face. “Oh, Daddy,” she added, “do you know, I think Arthur is in love!” “In love!” gasped Mr. Davis. “Yes, in love!” “Pray, with whom?” “I'm sure I can't imagine,” said Helen gravely; “but he seemed so abstracted, and he seemed to have something to tell me. And then he ran away!”