“No, but you will be to-morrow. You see I have not forgotten the date. Now, let me take time by the forelock a little, and whisper to Miss Meredith _who_ the author of ‘Chatsworth’s Pride’ is. She has been on the _qui vive_ to know ever since the book was published,” Mr. Appleton said, bending a roguish look upon Star, who now stood with drooping eyes and appearing somewhat confused. “Oh, do you know? Is it some friend of yours, Miss Gladstone?” Miss Meredith said, eagerly, to her. “I think it is so tantalizing not to know the name of the author of a book,” she went on, “particularly if it is one you happen to like very much; and here this provoking man who published this one only put a great star where he should have printed the author’s name. Do tell me, please, Miss Gladstone; I am, indeed, all curiosity.” Then remarking Star’s embarrassment, she looked from her to Mr. Appleton, questioningly. “Is it?” she went on, excitedly, as he smiled and glanced at the fair girl. “Can it be possible that it is Miss Gladstone herself? I believe it is,” she said, with sparkling eyes, as she seized Star’s hands; “and oh! what can I say to you? It is a charming little book, and I have enjoyed it more than I can tell you. There! let me shake the hand that wrote it, and if I had a laurel wreath here I would put it on this golden head and make you wear it the remainder of the evening.” And she squeezed and shook that small, white, gloved hand until Star laughingly begged for mercy. “See what you have subjected me to,” she said, with a half-reproachful look at Mr. Appleton. “You might just as well make the best of it, my modest little friend,” that gentleman replied, laughing. “I have kept silence for a year under the most trying circumstances, for I have been unmercifully besieged to tell who the author of ‘Chatsworth’s Pride’ is, and I could not stand the fire any longer. My time is too valuable to be spent in any such way; and I came here to-night not only to congratulate you upon your graduation, but also to introduce my fair young author to my friends. Yes, Miss Meredith, Miss Stella Gladstone is the author of ‘Chatsworth’s Pride.’” “Miss _Stella_ Gladstone?” Miss Meredith repeated. “Yes; and, you perceive, I was not far from giving the name after all. I was obliged to ‘make her mark,’ since I could not write her name,” returned Mr. Appleton, jocosely. “Ah, yes, I see. Stella means a star; and certainly,” Miss Meredith said, turning to her new acquaintance again, “you bid fair to shine like one.” CHAPTER XXIII. AN INTERESTING STORY. Jacob Rosevelt stood not far away during the conversation between Mr. Appleton, Miss Meredith, and Star, and a proud light beamed in his eyes as he listened to their praises of the girl whom he had learned to love so well. But it was nothing new to him that Star was an authoress; he had known it for nearly a year.