“DEAR NELLIE,--I hope you are not mad with me about Cameron. They say he shot himself on my account. Oh, Nellie, please don’t think I led him on, for I never thought of such a thing. You know we were all just sociable together, but I didn’t try to make him love me. I liked him ever so much as a friend, but I was desperately in love with my dear guardian all the time. And now I am to marry him, you know, and I am so happy I can not describe my feelings. I hope dear Cameron will soon be well again, and that he will forget his fancy for me, and marry some lovely girl like that Miss Faris, who likes him that way, I feel certain--only don’t tell her I said so, for she might get mad. To-morrow I am going to New York with Mrs. de Vere to order my wedding-dress. Only think of it--and I not eighteen, probably! But I am to be married in a month, and we will go to Paris on our wedding-tour. I shall bring you a souvenir, Nellie. And, oh! I hope that everything will blow over in a month, and that your mamma will let you be my bride-maid. I will write to you again from New York, and I will never forget the lovely week I spent at Orange Grove. I would send my love to everybody, only I am afraid they are a little vexed with me. A dozen kisses. Your loving “THEA.” It was arranged at first that Norman was to remain at Verelands; but he suddenly discovered that he would like to go to New York, too, on alleged business with his publisher. It was a most flimsy excuse, but it served his purpose, and the next day Verelands was shut up and Norman accompanied Thea, his mother, and her maid northward for the all-important purpose of choosing the bridal robe for his beautiful young love. “There is one thing you must let me do--that is, invite the Hintons to my wedding. I want to make friends with everybody, now that I am so happy,” coaxed Thea, on her journey. “They would only accuse you of more inveterate flirting than ever since you have captured such an old fellow as I am,” Norman de Vere returned, laughingly. “You shall not call yourself old. You seem no older to me than other men--only wiser and handsomer,” answered his frank Sweetheart, and his face glowed with pleasure. It did indeed seem to him that he had grown younger since Thea West had come back to Verelands in all the charm of her young beauty. Could any boy love her more ardently, or with more keen appreciation of her charms than he did? His heart answered no, and he began to realize that the feeling he had had for queenly, capricious, tormenting Camille had not borne comparison with this later, deeper love.