“I’ve lost them both by this day’s folly,” thought Kitty, as Mrs. Brown departed with the teacup. “I don’t care for Fletcher, for I dare say he didn’t mean half he said, and I was only flattered because he is rich and handsome and the girls glorify him. But I shall miss Jack, for I’ve known and loved him all my life. How good he’s been to me to-day! so patient, careful, and kind, though he must have been ashamed of me. I know he didn’t like my dress; but he never said a word and stood by me through everything. Oh, I wish I’d minded Pris! then he would have respected me, at least; I wonder if he ever will, again?” Following a sudden impulse, Kitty sprang up, locked the door, and then proceeded to destroy all her little vanities as far as possible. She smoothed out her crimps with a wet and ruthless hand; fastened up her pretty hair in the simple way Jack liked; gave her once cherished bonnet a spiteful shake, as she put it on, and utterly extinguished it with a big blue veil. She looped up her dress, leaving no vestige of the now hateful train, and did herself up uncompromisingly in the Quakerish gray shawl Pris had insisted on her taking for the evening. Then she surveyed herself with pensive satisfaction, saying, in the tone of one bent on resolutely mortifying the flesh,— “Neat but not gaudy; I’m a fright, but I deserve it, and it’s better than being a peacock.” Kitty had time to feel a little friendless and forlorn, sitting there alone as twilight fell, and amused herself by wondering if Fletcher would come to inquire about her, or show any further interest in her; yet when the sound of a manly tramp approached, she trembled lest it should be the victim of the fatal facing. The door opened, and with a sigh of relief she saw Jack come in, bearing a pair of new gloves in one hand and a great bouquet of June roses in the other. “How good of you to bring me these! They are more refreshing than oceans of tea. You know what I like, Jack; thank you very much,” cried Kitty, sniffing at her roses with grateful rapture. “And you know what I like,” returned Jack, with an approving glance at the altered figure before him. “I’ll never do so any more,” murmured Kitty, wondering why she felt bashful all of a sudden, when it was only cousin Jack. “Now put on your gloves, dear, and come out and hear the music; your train doesn’t go for two hours yet, and you mustn’t mope here all that time,” said Jack, offering his second gift. “How did you know my size?” asked Kitty, putting on the gloves in a hurry; for though Jack had called her “dear” for years, the little word had a new sound to-night. “I guessed,—no, I didn’t, I had the old ones with me; they are no good now, are they?” and too honest to lie, Jack tried to speak carelessly, though he turned red in the dusk, well knowing that the dirty little gloves were folded away in his left breast-pocket at that identical moment.