His eyes appeared to have appropriated the sparkle which had intensified the glance of the Sepoy of whom he had just read, and when he arrived at the familiar legend at the bottom of the bosom, his expression, vivid with all these communicated emotions, was duplicated in the sweet, absorbed face of his bewitching listener, who, in order the better to follow his rapid utterance, leaned, with the exquisite intoxication of her presence, in rapt nearness to the reader. Consequently, when Dennis looked up from his reading, he was transported along the highway of a sympathetic glance into deeps of dazzling blue. For a moment he abandoned himself to the enchanting witchery with the dreamful enjoyment of the voluptuary inhaling the odors of a scented bath. He seemed to be on the best of terms with some well-disposed harlequin. Scarcely had the excitement of one series of events developed to its climax when he was whisked to another. His providence was working overtime in his behalf, and being at heart sound and genuine, the weight of his obligations to all these auspices warned him not to be too prodigal with his privileges; so, with an effort, the stress of which communicated some of its rigors to his countenance, he closed his eyes for one ascetic moment and came bravely to earth again. Suspecting something of the nature of his confusion, as a lovely woman will, and secretly applauding his undemonstrative deference, which, in the cynical atmosphere to which she was habituated, came to her like a refreshing zephyr, the widow asked him with an engaging smile of encouragement: "Of what were you thinking, Mr. Muldoon?" "Mr. Muldoon!" he repeated to himself with an endeavor to reflect the intonation of personal distinction which issued so entrancingly from the Cupid's bow of a mouth. He had not been so ceremoniously addressed since he knew not when, and never realized that his homely name had such music in it. "Oh!" he thought, "if she would only say 'Dennis,' it would be like grand opera." "Why," replied Dennis with simple frankness. "I was thinking, for one thing--for one thing"--but encouraged by her smiling invitation he stammered--"how beautiful you are!" and added to himself, or it looked as though he might express his sentiments that way: "There, you've done it!" "Ah!" exclaimed his companion, with a rosy enjoyment of this unstudied situation and frank appreciation, "and what was the other?" "I don't know how to tell you the other," answered Dennis. Then with an unreflective inspiration: "Did you ever read about Launcelot and Guinevere?" "Ye-yes," was the apprehensive answer. "Well," continued Dennis with a naive remembrance only of the chivalry of this idyllic indiscretion, "when I look at you I can understand how a knight could battle for a queen." There was silence for a moment, but in the interval the lady did not laugh, though her eyes were bright as she said: "You are a strange boy."