"The sixteenth; that will be three nights off," he answered. "Exactly. We will all go. We will make up a theater-party. What do you say, girls?" "Splendid!" said Edith. "All right!" exclaimed Ida, and Maud added a more sedate affirmative. "And you, dear?" Eliot said, gently, to the silent girl by his side. She lifted her dark, mournful eyes to his face with a gentle smile, and said, wistfully, almost humbly: "Whatever you wish, Eliot." The sweetness of her smile and voice disarmed his resentment for her slight of last night, and leaning toward her, he said, in a tender whisper: "We will go, then, and I will bring you another bouquet; but mind, no giving it away this time." "Did you care?" she murmured back, with sudden radiance. They were rising from the table just then, and Una slipped her white fingers daringly through his arm, as she murmured the coquettish words. He looked down, saw the sudden radiance on her face, and a half-light broke upon his mind. "So you did it to make me jealous, madame?" he said, gayly. "Very well; you attained your desire. But I must be off now. Come to the library one minute. I want you." Inside the cozy little room, he said, kindly: "You will want a new dress for the theater-party. How much?" She drew back from him, scarlet with shame. "Oh, no; I have plenty of dresses--more than I need." "Very well, but you shall have a new dress if you wish it." "But I do not wish it," hurriedly. "And--and--oh, Eliot, I'm afraid I cost you too much money! Sell the brown pony. I do not care for riding any more, and it is a useless expense to keep it." His fair, handsome face grew suddenly stern. "Who has been putting such nonsense in your head?" he demanded. "It is not nonsense," Una said, shyly but firmly. "You are poor. You told me so long ago. So I know you can not afford the expense." "Nonsense--" he began; but the door opened, and Maud entered, followed by Edith. "Oh, excuse us, Una. We did not know you were here with Eliot. We just came in to say good-morning to him before we go in the drawing-room with Ida." He kissed them both, and they went out. He held out his hand to his wife. "By-by, Una. I suppose I must really tear myself away," he said. CHAPTER XXXIII. She put her small hand in his, and he felt the fingers curl around his own, gently detaining him. "Well, dear?" he asked, thinking that she was about to change her mind and say she would have the new dress. Her face dropped a little to hide the warm flush that rose over it as she stammered in desperate confusion: "Before you--go--I must make a confession. Last night I--I--told an untruth when I said I had a headache and could not sing. You--you will not call me your little Una, your lady of truth any more now, will you, Eliot?" She was so close to him, the supple, girlish figure leaned so near that he daringly slipped his arm around the small waist. A thrill of rapture ran through him as he felt her nestle shyly in his clasp.