"I leaned out of window, I smelt the white clover, Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate; Now, if there be footsteps, he comes, my one lover-- Hush, nightingale, hush! O, sweet nightingale, wait Till I listen and hear If a step draweth near, For my love he is late." The murmured words of the love-song had died on the sweet lips now. They were white with fear as she turned to Mrs. Le Roy. "My child, you need not look so startled," she laughed. "My guests will not eat you." Then Laurel knew that she had almost betrayed herself. She rallied her sinking spirits with a great effort of will. "I _was_ rather startled. When you said New York I thought of so many whom I knew," she said, apologetically. "Is it any one who--knows me, Mrs. Le Roy?" she asked, quivering with secret fear. "No, my dear; but it is a lady who moves in the highest circles of fashionable society in New York--an old friend of mine and St. Leon's--a beautiful young widow she is now. She ran down quite informally upon us to bring a friend--a titled foreigner--to see our beautiful Eden." Laurel began to take heart again now. She listened with a smile, while the lady continued: "You will not take it amiss in your mother's old friend, Beatrix, if I suggest that you make your dinner toilet more elaborate than usual? You are always lovely, dear"--seeing the pale cheeks crimson suddenly--"in the simplest things you wear; but, to do honor to our guests and justice to your own rare beauty, I want you to look your loveliest to-night. I want to help you select a robe from among the new ones your mother sent--may I, dear?" with a coaxing smile. "They do not fit--they are all too large, I think," faltered Laurel. "I will send my maid. She can make the necessary alterations in a few minutes. I am waiting, dear, to help you select your robe, if you will allow me," said Mrs. Le Roy, with gentle persistence. And Laurel had to yield. They looked through the dresses and selected one of white nun's-veiling, satin and Spanish lace--simple enough for a young girl, yet exquisitely elaborate and becoming. "If you will wear this with the beautiful pearls your mother sent, you will be simply peerless," said Mrs. Le Roy. Laurel could not confess that she had sent the pearls away. When Mrs. Le Roy was gone, and the maid was altering the dinner-dress, she slipped out and gathered her hands full of deep scarlet jacqueminot roses. "Will not these roses look well with the white dress?" she asked the stylish French maid, rather timidly. "Superb!" pronounced mademoiselle, with enthusiasm.