He was so madly in love with the little blue-eyed beauty by his side that it was with difficulty he restrained himself from clasping the dainty form in his arms and whispering to her all that was in his heart--the admiration, the tenderness, the passion, the yearning to woo and win her for his worshiped bride. But the faint remnant of reason remaining to him whispered, warningly: “Wait till she knows you better. Such impetuous violence would frighten and disgust the little darling!” So each remained silent for a brief time, thrilled and dominated by the presence of the other, then Floy, coming back to herself by a great effort of will, murmured, softly: “You said you came to take me home. Did any one send you?” “No; I came of my own free will,” he returned, gently. “Why--why, that was strange!” she faltered, wonderingly. “Do you think so?” he asked; and there was a tender meaning in his voice that made her cheeks burn warmly, and her heart throb again so wildly that she could not speak. She, who had always been so saucy and ready-witted, flouting with scorn the flatteries of her admirers, could not think of any retort, could not unclose her lips for a coquettish reply. Finding that she did not reply, her handsome companion continued: “I wonder if you would be offended if I should tell you about a strange dream that warned me to come to your assistance!” Floy started and thrilled, remembering her own beautiful dream, and she found courage to return: “I--I thought you were too much offended with me to--to dream of me! Mr. Maury said you were so angry with me, you would not come back to the picnic.” “That was not true. I was a little vexed with you, I own, but I was going back with Otho; only just as we stepped outside the gate, a telegram was handed me that necessitated my return to New York to-morrow, and my sailing for Europe the next day. The matter so worried me that I told Otho to go back without me, as I must remain to see to my packing. I did not bring my valet here with me, and he went alone and made capital of my absence to tell you that falsehood, the villain!” “Oh, how I hate the false, cowardly wretch, and how glad I am that you came when you did. I believe I should have died with disgust if he had succeeded in kissing me!” cried Floy. Beresford wondered if she would be willing to kiss him; but he did not dare to offer the caress that was burning on his lips. His strong, true love made him timid and respectful. He said, soothingly: “I do not think he will ever dare to annoy you again.” “I should think not, or I will tell Uncle John, and he will punish him,” Floy replied; then added, timidly: “But the dream that sent you to me?--I am quite curious over it.” “I should like you to hear it, only--promise me you will not be angry,” tenderly. “Of course not. One can not stop dreams. And this one must have been a good one.” “It was charming!” he cried, vivaciously.