And she was Helen. A miracle had been worked, but Helen's self was looking at me out of that goddess-like face as unmistakably as from an unfamiliar dress. It was seeing her in a marvellous new garb of flesh. "Oh, I'm so happy! I'm the happiest girl on earth; I'm--am I really beautiful?" The rich, low, brooding, wondering voice was not Helen's, but in every sentence some note or inflection was as familiar as were her tricks of manner, her impulsive gestures. Yes, she was Helen; warm-breathing, flushed with joy of her own loveliness, her perfect womanhood--the girl I adored, the loveliest thing alive! I seized the hands she gave me; I drew her nearer. "Helen," I cried, "you are indeed the most beautiful being God ever created, and--last June you kissed me--" "I didn't!" "--Or I kissed you, which is the same thing--after the Commencement reception, by the maple trees, in front of the chapter house; and----" "And thence in an east-southeasterly direction; with all the hereditaments and appurtenances--Oh, you funny Old Preciseness!" "And now I'm going to----" The words were brave, but there was something in the pose and poise of her--the wonder of her beauty, the majesty--perhaps the slightest withdrawal, the start of surprise--that awed me. Lamely enough the sentence ended: "Helen, kiss me!" I begged, hoarsely. For just a fraction of a second she hesitated. Then the merriment of coquetry again sparkled in her smile. "Ah, but I'm afraid--" she mocked. Her eyes danced with mischief as she drew away from me. "I'm afraid of a man who's going to be a great city lawyer. And then--oh, listen!" Hurried, ostentatiously heavy footsteps sounded in the hall. They stopped at the door, and some one fumbled noisily at the knob. There was a stage cough, and Kitty plunged into the room, carefully unnoticing. "Such an idea for--a hippopotamus comic," she panted; "a darling! Sent drawings down--messenger--rushed back to sketch--" Here she paused to take breath. "--lest I forget." Snatching off her gloves she resumed her place at the big table, and began making wild strokes with a crayon on a great sheet of cardboard. "I just _had_ to do it," said she apologetically over her shoulder; "but--don't mind me." CHAPTER III. THE HORNETS' NEST. It was dusk when I left Helen. My head was buzzing. Out of her presence what I had seen was unthinkable, unbelievable. I could do nothing but walk, walk--a man in a dream. I rushed ahead, jostling people in silly haste; I dawdled. I carefully set my feet across the joinings of paving blocks; I zigzagged; I turned corners aimlessly. Once a policeman touched me as I blinked into the roaring torches of a street-repairing gang. Once I found myself on Brooklyn Bridge, looking down at big boats shaped like pumpkin seeds, with lights streaking from every window. Once I woke behind a noisy group under the coloured lights of a Bowery museum.