Drawing the veil down quickly over her rosy face, the frolicsome wind caught the bit of blue gossamer and whirled it back toward the sidewalk. Jesse Devereaux gave chase, captured the veil, and flew after the girl. She had gained the pavement, and was hurrying on, when she heard him at her side, panting, as he said: "I beg pardon--your veil!" A white hand was thrust in front of her, holding the bit of blue gauze, and she had to stop. "I thank you," she murmured, taking it from his hand and raising her eyes shyly to his face--the brilliant, handsome face that had haunted many a young girl's dreams. The dazzling dark eyes were fixed eagerly on her lovely face, and his red lips parted in a smile that showed pearly-white teeth as he exclaimed gayly: "Old Boreas was jealous of your hiding such a face, and whisked your veil away, but out of mercy to mankind I concluded to return it." "Thank you, very much!" she answered again, and was turning away when Dolly Dorr rushed across the street, breathless with eagerness. "How do you do, Mr. Devereaux?" she cried gayly, having been introduced to him at a church festival the evening before. "Ah, Miss----" he hesitated, as he lifted his hat, and she twittered: "Miss Dorr; we met at the festival last night, you know. And this is my chum, Liane Lester." "Charmed," he exclaimed, while his radiant black eyes beamed on Liane's face, and he stepped along by Dolly's side as she placed herself between them, intent on a flirtation. "May I share your walk?" he asked, and Dolly gave an eager assent, secretly wishing her girl friend a mile away. But as she could not manage this, she proceeded to monopolize the conversation--an easy task, for Liane walked along silent and ill at ease, "for all the world," thought the lively Dolly to herself, "like a tongue-tied little schoolgirl." No wonder Liane was demure and frightened, dreading to get a scolding from granny if Jesse Devereaux walked with them as far as her home. Liane lived alone, in pinching poverty, with a feeble old grandmother, who was too old to work for herself, and needed Liane's wages to keep life in her old bones; so she was always dreading that the girl's beauty would win her a husband who would pack the old woman off to the poorhouse as an incumbrance. She kept Liane illy dressed and hard worked, and never permitted her to have a beau. Marriage was a failure, she said. "What was the use of marrying a poor man, to work your fingers to the bone for him?" she exclaimed scornfully. "But one might marry rich," suggested innocent Liane. "Rich men marry rich girls, and if they ever notice a poor girl, she mostly comes to grief by it. Don't never let me catch you flirting with any young man, or I'll make you sorry!" granny answered viciously.