Of that rarest, most exquisite type, a dark-eyed blonde, she was possessed of most alluring beauty that not even want and poverty had sufficed to dim. A little above medium height, slight and graceful, with perfect features, an oval face, a skin as delicate as a rose leaf, pouting, crimson lips, large, dark, haunting eyes, and a mass of curling golden hair, she would enchant any lover of beauty. The young man, after watching her in blended admiration and curiosity several minutes, suddenly exclaimed: “Excuse me, are you Madame Barto’s daughter?” Jessie lifted those large, dark, haunting eyes to his face in wonder, answering: “No, I am an orphan girl--living with madame and working for her because I have no home nor friends.” The pathos of the low-spoken words went to his heart, and his voice grew soft with sympathy as he said: “My name is Frank Laurier. May I know yours?” “It is Jessie Lyndon,” she replied, dropping her eyes with a deepening blush at his eager glance. “A pretty name. I should like to know you better, Miss Lyndon. Will you take a little drive with me in the park some afternoon?” She started in such surprise that the sewing fell from her little, trembling hands. “Sir, I--I----” she faltered confusedly. He smiled at her dismay, and added eagerly: “No, no, I don’t mean to be impertinent. I would like the pleasure of a drive with you, and would return you safe to madame afterward. Please say you will accept my invitation,” he pleaded, his dark-blue eyes shining with a light that sent a sweet, warm thrill through her heart like a burning arrow--the flame-tipped arrow of love. She grew dizzy with the thought of driving with him in the park--she, little Jessie Lyndon, poor, obscure, friendless, to be chosen by this splendid young exquisite, it was too good to be true. “Will you go--to please me!” pleaded the musical, manly voice, and she murmured tremulously: “I--would--go--if madame----” “Leave that to me. I will coax her,” he said radiantly, as a little tinkle of the bell summoned him to the fortune teller. CHAPTER IV. THE WINNING OF A HEART. Jessie set some very bad stitches in madame’s ruffling the next half hour, for her slender fingers trembled with the quick beating of her heart. She had had her shy dreams of a lover, like other girls, and now they seemed about to become blissful reality. Could it be he had fallen in love with her? This rich, handsome young man--in love with the face that she could not help knowing was very fair. Madame must be mistaken thinking that his strange agitation came from a quarrel with his sweetheart. He could not have had any sweetheart, surely. Her dark eyes beamed with joy, her cheeks glowed crimson as a sea shell, and her heart throbbed wildly with suspense. Madame Barto came in presently with the young man, and said blandly: “I have consented to your taking an hour’s drive in the park with this gentleman, my dear, if you wish.”