Aline, as she nestled up against him on their way out of the studio, was thus impressed with a salutary consciousness of her extreme youth. But this in itself magnified Jimmie's age. She loved him with a pure passionate tenderness; no one, she thought, could know him without loving him; but her ideal of the hero of romance for whom fair ladies pined away in despairing secret was far different. She was too young as yet, too little versed in the signs by which the human heart can be read, to suspect what his playful question implied of sadness, hopelessness, renunciation. On Sunday they lunched with Connie Deering. Morland and Norma and old Colonel Pawley, an ancient acquaintance of every one, were the only other guests. It was almost a family party, cried Connie, gaily; and it had been an inspiration, seeing that the invitations had been sent out before the engagement had taken place. Jimmie and Aline, being the first arrivals, had their hostess to themselves for a few moments. “They both think it bad form to show a sign of it, but they are awfully gone upon each other,” Connie said. “So you must n't judge Norma by what she says. All girls like to appear cynical nowadays. It's the fashion. But they fall in love in the same silly way, just as they used to.” “I am glad to hear they are fond of one another,” said Jimmie. “The deeper their love the happier I shall be.” The little lady looked at him for a second out of the corner of her eye. “What an odd thing to say!” “It ought to be a commonplace thing to feel.” “In the happiness of others there is always something that is pleasing. By giving him the lie like that you will make poor Rochefoucauld turn in his grave.” “He ought to be kept revolving like Ixion,” said Jimmie. “His maxims are the Beatitudes of Hell.” He laughed off the too trenchant edge of his epigram, qualifying it in his kind way. After all, you must n't take your cynic too literally. No doubt a kindly heart beats in the ducal bosom. “I should like to know your real opinion of the devil,” laughed Mrs. Deering. The opportunity for so doing was lost for the moment. The lovers entered, having driven together from the Park. At the sight of Norma, Aline twitched Jimmie's arm with a little gasp of admiration and Jimmie's breath came faster. He had not seen her hitherto quite so coldly, radiantly beautiful. Perhaps it was the great white hat she wore, a mystery of millinery, chiffon and roses and feathers melting one with the other into an effect of broad simplicity, that formed an unsanctified but alluring halo to a queenly head. Perhaps it was the elaborately simple cream dress, open-worked at neck and arms, that moulded her ripe figure into especial stateliness. Perhaps, thought poor Jimmie, it was the proud loveliness into which love was wont to transfigure princesses.