gth that's in him."

Blank incredulity was on Mary's face. She glanced at the watch and up at
him and again she shook her head.

"This man," Burgess went on, "is a friend of Miss Masters and it was
through her that he first heard of the Lady Hyacinths. He was an idler
then. A shiftless, worthless loafer, but the Lady Hyacinths made a man
of him and he's gone out and got a job."

Comprehension overwhelming, overmastering, flashed into Mary's eyes. But
her promise held her silent and in her chair. Again it was as though she
had spoken.

"Yes, I see you understand--you probably think of me as an old man past
the time of love and yet I love you."

"Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love."

"That's all I have to offer you, sweetheart. Just love and my life," and
he in turn went to the window and looked out into the gathering dusk.

Mary sat absolutely still. She knew now that she was dreaming. Just so
the dream had always run and when the five minutes were past, she rose
and went to him: a true Ophelia, her arms all full of hyacinths.

"My honored Lord," said she. He turned, and the dream held.

THERE'S DANGER IN NUMBERS

The Pennsylvania Limited was approaching Jersey City and the afternoon
was approaching three o'clock when Mr. John Blake turned to Mrs. John
Blake, nee Marjorie Underwood, a bride of about three hours, and
precipitated the first discussion of their hitherto happy married life.

"Your Uncle Richard Underwood," said he--the earlier discussions in the
wedded state are usually founded upon relations--"is as stupid as he is
kind. It was very good of him to arrange that I should meet old
Nicholson. Any young fellow in the country would give his eyes for the
chance. But to make an appointment for a fellow at four o'clock in the
afternoon of his wedding day is a thing of which no one, except your
Uncle Richard, would be capable. He might have known that I couldn't go."

"But you must go," urged the bride, "it's the chance of a lifetime.
Besides which," she added with a pretty little air of practicality, "we
can't afford to throw away an opportunity like this. We may never get
another one, and if you don't go how are you to explain it to Uncle
Richard when we dine there to-morrow night?--you know we promised to,
when he was last at West Hills."

"But what," suggested her husband--"what if, in grasping at th