The arrangement, it is scarcely necessary to say, pleased Helen very much indeed; the atmosphere of luxury and easy superiority which she found at her aunt's was much to her taste, and she looked forward to being a center of attraction there with the keenest delight. In the meantime, however, she slaked her thirst for happiness just as well at Oakdale, accepting with queenly grace the homage of all who came to lay their presents at her feet. Sunday proved to be a day of triumph, for all the town had come to church, and was as much stirred by the glory of her singing as Arthur had predicted. After the service everyone waited to tell her about it, and so she was radiant indeed. By Tuesday, however, all that had come to seem a trifling matter, for that afternoon Aunt Polly was to come, and a new world was to be opened for her conquest. Helen was amusing herself by sorting out the motley collection of souvenirs and curios which she had brought home to decorate her room, when she heard a carriage drive up at the door, and a minute later heard the voice of Mrs. Roberts' footman in the hall. Mrs. Roberts herself did not alight, and Helen kept her waiting only long enough to slip on her hat, and to bid her father a hurried farewell. In a minute more she was in the carriage, and was being borne in state down the main street of Oakdale. “You are beautiful to-day, my dear,” said her aunt, beaming upon her; “I hope you are all ready for your triumph.” “I think so,” said Helen. “I've about seen everybody and everything I wanted to at home; I've been wonderfully happy, Auntie.” “That is right, my dear,” said Aunt Polly. “You have certainly every cause to be, and you would be foolish not to make the most of it. But I should think this town would seem a somewhat less important place to you, after all that you have seen of the world.” “Yes, it does a little,” laughed Helen, “but it seemed good to see all the old people again.” “Someone told me they saw Arthur here on Saturday,” said the other. “Did you see _him?_” “Oh, yes,” said Helen; “that's what he came for. You can fancy how glad I was to meet him. I spent a couple of hours walking in the woods with him.” Mrs. Roberts' look of dismay may be imagined; it was far too great for her to hide. “Where is he now?” she asked, hastily. “Oh, he has gone home,” said Helen; and she added, smiling, “he went on Saturday afternoon, because he's writing a poem about thunderstorms, and he wanted to study that one.” The other was sufficiently convinced of the irresponsibility of poets to be half uncertain whether Helen was joking or not; it was very frequently difficult to tell, anyway, for Helen would look serious and amuse herself by watching another person's mystification--a trait of character which would have been intolerable in anyone less fascinating than she.