greeted him with a characteristic
little speech.

Presently the unexpected guest was moving easily among the others,
passing from group to group with hearty handshakes and happy words,
at last coming face to face with Juanita Sterling.

She had watched him nearing her corner, the while politely
attending to Miss Leatherland's intermittent chit-cnat and vainly
trying to banish from her mind the recent assertions of Miss Major.
With his first word, however, they fled, and she found herself
talking to the president unabashed and unafraid.

"I am glad to have the opportunity of telling you how much I
thought of those beautiful roses," she said; "I never saw handsomer
ones."

"It is good to know you enjoyed them. I hoped to have the pleasure
of taking you out to Adalina Park in the height of the rose
season." Was there an inquiry in the eyes that bent to hers?

She felt the flush sweep up her cheeks. "I should have been
delighted to go," she replied. Hurriedly she tried to think of
something to add to the brief sentence, but her mind was confused,
and the seconds slipped by.

"I was sorry it happened so," he went on; "but we will try it
again. Adalina Park is in its full glory now, and there are pretty
drives outside of the parks." He smiled whimsically.

Then came the question that put her in doubt whether she should
tell him the truth or not--"When should I be most likely to find
you disengaged?"

"Almost any time," she answered, having decided that she would
leave him to discover why she had not responded to his invitation.
"Work is never pressing at the Home."

"Isn't it?" A puzzled look flickered in his eyes--or was it only
her fancy?

A little flutter about the piano told that somebody was to play or
sing. David took the seat and began a prelude. Then he sang in a
clear, fresh voice:--

"Red as the wine of forgotten ages,
Yellow as gold of the sunbeams spun,
Pink as the gowns of Aurora's pages,
White as the robe of a sinless one,
Sweeter than Araby's winds that blow--
Roses, roses, I love ye so!"

"Who is that boy?" Nelson Randolph asked. "Some relation of
Colonel Gresham's, isn't he?"

"His grandnephew, David Collins."

"He has a fine voice."

"Excellent. Polly Dudley has a sweet voice, too. I hope she will
sing before the evening is over. And Doodles is wonderful! Have
you ever heard him?"

"No. He told me he was in the choir at St. Bartholomew's."

"There he