fighter would war with the dreamer, and I would regret the short, fierce battle with my competitors in the business of life. A slight sound made me turn, and I saw Bonny Page standing alone in the doorway, and looking straight at me with her dancing eyes. "I don't know you yet, Ben," she said in the direct, gallant manner of a perfect horsewoman, "but I'm going to like you." "Please try," I answered, "and I'll do my best not to make it hard." "I don't think it will be hard, but even if it were, I'd do it for Sally's sake. Sally is my darling." "And mine. So we're alike in one thing at least." "I'm perfectly furious with Aunt Mitty. I mean to tell her so the next time I've taken a high jump." "Poor Miss Mitty. How can she help herself? She was born that way." "Well, it was a very bad way to be born--to want to break Sally's heart. Do you know, I think it was delightful--the way you did it. If I'm ever married, I want to run away, too,--only I'll run away on horseback, because that will be far more exciting." She ran on merrily, partly I knew to take my measure while she watched me, partly to ease the embarrassment which her exquisite social instinct had at once discerned. She was charming, friendly, almost affectionate, yet I was conscious all the time that, in spite of herself, she was a little critical, a trifle aloof. Her perfect grooming, the very fineness of her self-possession, her high-bred gallantry of manner, and even the shining gloss on her black, beribboned hair, and her high boots, produced in me a sense of remoteness, which I found it impossible altogether to overcome. In a little while there was a flutter on the staircase, and the other girls trooped down, with Sally in their midst. She had changed her travelling dress for a gown of white, cut low at the neck, and about her throat she wore a necklace of pearls I had given her at her wedding. There was a bright flush in her face, and she looked to me as she had done that day, in her red shoes, in Saint John's churchyard. When I came downstairs from my dressing-room, I found that the girls had gone, and she was standing by the dinner table, with her face bent down over the vase of pink roses in the centre. "So we are in our own home, darling, at last," I said, and a few minutes later, as I looked across the pink candle shades and the roses, and saw her sitting opposite to me, I told myself that at last both the fighter in me and the dreamer had found the fulfilment of their desire.