poet himself. It ran in this
fashion:

"DEAR PATRONESS AND QUEEN: The poet has not dared to send in
unfitting casket the offering which your approval has made
precious. The poems which are addressed to you must at least
offer themselves in form not unworthy to be touched by your
hand.

"In all devotion yours,

"HERBERT BLANCHET."

Nor did the volume want a poetical dedication. The second leaf
contained the following:

UNTO MY LADY PATRONESS AND QUEEN.

Upon my darkness may there well be fall
Light of all darkness, darkness of all light;
Starfire of amber, dew of deathlike sheen;
Waters that burn, pale fires that sicken all,
And shadows all aglow with saffron light;
But comes my lady who is Glory's queen,
And all the bright is dark, and pallid dark the bright.

Minola read this dedication again and again, puzzled, amused, angry,
hardly knowing whether to laugh or to cry. "Am I glory's queen?" she
asked of her own soul. "And if I am, am I letting light or darkness in
upon my poor poet? Am I depriving him of the amber, the dew, and the
saffron light, or not? Is it praise or blame, this dedication? I
suppose it must be praise, but I don't think anybody could tell from
its words. Oh, my dear little Mary Blanchet, why must you have a
brother--and why must that brother be a poet?"

There was one consolation--the dedication did not set forth her name,
and nobody could know who the lady patroness of the poet might be.
Minola felt inclined to be offended that she should be in any way
brought into this folly, but she was not certain whether remonstrance
or complaint might not be more ridiculous than utter silence. After all
nobody knew anything about her or cared, she said. If she were to
complain in any way, it would only grieve poor Mary, whom the thought
that her brother could have offended her friend and leader would drive
well-nigh distracted. "What does it matter if I am made a little
ridiculous in my own eyes?" she asked herself. "It is only in my own
eyes, I suppose. Mary will look on it all as delightful; her brother of
course means it for the best, and thinks it superb poetry; and there is
no one else likely to care either way. It is not much to be a little
more ridiculous in my own eyes than I have already made myself."

Perhaps--perhaps--let it be said with hesitation and much
caution--there was something not wholly unwelcome to ou