furthermore, dressed in a plain, dark silk dress, with small feet, the toes of which, at that moment, peeped like mice from beneath the trimly hanging skirt. Now, before he had gotten far in his dynamic spiel, the sun, all red and glorious, as its rays slanted in the west, came suddenly from beneath a cloud, and played hide and seek upon her face. And, in that moment, he saw that she was exquisitely beautiful. After this, he had seen her when, and however it was convenient, and they had talked--they always talked--on so very many subjects. As time went by, he always felt good cheer, for at last, it seemed--and this meant much, for Sidney Wyeth had had much experience--he had met the One Woman. One day she said to him, and it was in a tone that was very careful: "You wrote _The Tempest_, didn't you?" She had guessed his secret, although the book had been published anonymously--and he had always been guarded as to its author, so he replied somewhat awkwardly that he had. "I felt it--was sure when I began reading," she said. "Because there is something in it about you that you never tell--in conversation, but you did in the book." He was silent, for he knew not what to say at that moment. She resumed: "Yes; and it is that which makes the book _so_ interesting--and so sad." She fell silent then for a time, apparently engrossed in deep thought, but with worried and sad expression. There were other times she had appeared sad; times when he felt she could have been happy and cheerful and gay. And that to him was ever a mystery. He wished he could help her out of that way--at any time.... Some day he would, too. He was firm in this.... Then came the time when he was to leave, and he passed her way that day. From across the street she saw him, and came at once with hands outstretched; but when he made known the fact of his proposed departure, she was downcast, and sorrowful and sad. "I'm _so_ sorry," she said--and meant it. He was too, and said nothing. "I shall miss you--oh, ever so much." "I will you, too," he whispered. She looked up quickly, but what she saw in his eyes made her as quickly turn away. They entered the house and the parlor where it was dark for day-time, and sat together for a long while in silence. Presently, from the next house came the notes of a piano, and some one sang _Sweet Genevieve_. O, subtle art! It made them both feel sad. Impulsively he arose and caught her in his arms, when the music had changed to _The Blue Danube_. Around then, and around they waltzed, light-footed to the sweet old tune. And as they danced, both seemed to become strangely infected with a wild exhilaration. Entranced, he unconsciously sought her eyes with an awakening passion, and saw that she had been transformed by the music, and perhaps the dance, into a wild, elfin-like creature, and he looked away.