depicted an angry father
arriving at a church door to find his eloping daughter in the arms of
stalwart youth, with the clergy looking on approvingly; another of Mr.
John Drew assuming a commanding posture as Petruchio in _The Taming of
the Shrew_; some ennuied flabby angels riding on the clouds; a child of
unhealthy pink clasping lovingly an inflammable dog; on the mantel a
miniature ship, under glass, and some lady statuettes whose toilettes
slipped down--down.

And, on an easel, the sad portrait of a gentleman, undoubtedly the late
lamented Norton. His uninteresting nose appeared to turn up at the
constant odor of cookery in which it dwelt; his hair was plastered down
over his forehead in a gorgeous abandoned curve such as some of the
least sophisticated of Mr. John T. McCutcheon's gentlemen affect.

Mr. Magee stared round the room and smiled. Was the romance of reality
never to resemble the romance of his dreams? Where were the dim lights,
where the distant waltz, where the magic of moonlight amid which he was
some day to have told a beautiful girl of his love? Hardly in Mrs.
Norton's parlor.

She came and stood in the doorway. Hatless, coatless, smiling, she
flooded the place with her beauty. Mr. Magee looked at the flabby angels
on the wall, expecting them to hide their faces in shame. But no, they
still rode brazenly their unstable clouds.

"Come in," he cried. "Don't leave me alone here again, please. And tell
me--is this the gentleman who took the contract for making Mrs. Norton
happy?"

"I--I can't come in," she said, blushing. She seemed to wish to avoid
him. "Yes, that is Mr. Norton." She came nearer the easel, and smiled at
the late lamented's tonsorial crown. "I must leave you--just a moment--"

Billy Magee's heart beat wildly. His breath came fast. He seized her by
the hand.

"You're never going to leave me again," he cried. "Don't you know that?
I thought you knew. You're mine. I love you. I love you. It's all I can
say, my dearest. Look at me--look at me, please."

"It has happened so quickly," she murmured. "Things can't be true when
they--happen so quickly."

"A woman's logic," said Mr. Magee. "It has happened. My beautiful girl.
Look at me."

And then--she looked. Trembling, flushed, half frightened, half
exultant, she lifted her eyes to his.

"My little girl!" he cried down at her.

A moment longer she held off, and then limply she surrendered. And Billy
Magee held her close in his a