“Oh! but he is splendid—I never saw before how tall and great he really is! How red his cheeks are today; how brown his eyes are! Oh! I never noticed before that he had such lovely hair—and feet—and—” ran tumultuously through her mind. She was looking at her lover through different glasses now, and saw with other eyes than before. “Yes, little Mother,” she called hastily, in response to a gentle tap at her door, “please say that I shall be down presently.” Would her hair never go up properly? Such thumbs for fingers! Where on earth were her shoes? Everything else was out of place! “I will put on my ‘dear’ little dress,” she thought, as she drew from its corner her treasure. Pale yellow crepe, soft, silken, crepy, with knots and loops of brilliant orange-colored velvet. In her hair she fastened a tiny golden butterfly, whose gauzy wings swayed with her every movement. Tiny golden slippers peeped from beneath her gown, and amber beads gleamed through the folds of lace about her throat. How the gown recalled the only time she had worn it, one night at a musicale when she had sung Nevin’s _Mon Desir_. “I think that my riding togs feel more comfortable, after all,” she thought, as she surveyed herself once more in the long mirror, before going into the library. Her silken petticoats rustled and swished as she descended the stairs, as if they fain would silence the beatings of her heart. She halted for a moment before the half-open door, nervously wiping her lips with a dainty handkerchief. Then she stepped calmly into the room. Davis arose and started eagerly forward, but stopped abruptly as he beheld the delightful picture which she made. Neither spoke for an instant, as each gazed directly into luminous brown eyes. With an effort, as she again brushed the bit of lace across her lips, Bess spoke: “I have decided, Mr. Davis. My answer is—yes!” How long he held her in passionate embrace, how fervently he rained caresses upon her eyes, her mouth, her hair, Bess did not know. Instead, she wondered if the butterfly in her hair would suddenly become animate and fly away, so persistently did it flutter its gauzy wings. She heard the rustle of the silken crepe of her gown under the pressure of his arm. She felt the amber beads trickle down her shoulders and strike with soft patter on the rug, as they became released as if scissors had snapped their cord. Unconsciously she stooped to pick them up, but the man held her fast. “Oh—please—!” she cried. Summoning all her strength she wrested herself free, her heart beating wildly. “Forgive me, dear—I could devour you! You were never so beautiful, so lovable before! I’m sorry to have frightened you,” said Davis, his voice scarcely audible in its emotion.