to fail again? Was she to be set aside once more, as so
often heretofore--set aside, flouted, ignored, forgotten? "If you love
me," she had said.

And this was to be the supreme test. This evening was to decide which
was the great influence of his life--was to prove whether or not love
was paramount. This was the crucial hour. "And he knows it," cried
Laura. "He knows it. He did not forget, could not have forgotten."

The half hour passed, then the hour, and as eight o'clock chimed from
the clock over the mantelshelf Laura stopped, suddenly rigid, in the
midst of the floor.

Her anger leaped like fire within her. All the passion of the woman
scorned shook her from head to foot. At the very moment of her triumph
she had been flouted, in the pitch of her pride! And this was not the
only time. All at once the past disappointments, slights, and
humiliations came again to her memory. She had pleaded, and had been
rebuffed again and again; she had given all and had received
neglect--she, Laura, beautiful beyond other women, who had known love,
devoted service, and the most thoughtful consideration from her
earliest girlhood, had been cast aside.

Suddenly she bent her head quickly, listening intently. Then she drew a
deep breath, murmuring "At last, at last!"

For the sound of a footstep in the vestibule was unmistakable. He had
come after all. But so late, so late! No, she could not be gracious at
once; he must be made to feel how deeply he had offended; he must sue
humbly, very humbly, for pardon. The servant's step sounded in the hall
on the way towards the front door.

"I am in here, Matthew," she called. "In the library. Tell him I am in
here."

She cast a quick glance at herself in the mirror close at hand, touched
her hair with rapid fingers, smoothed the agitation from her forehead,
and sat down in a deep chair near the fireplace, opening a book,
turning her back towards the door.

She heard him come in, but did not move. Even as he crossed the floor
she kept her head turned away. The footsteps paused near at hand. There
was a moment's silence. Then slowly Laura, laying down her book, turned
and faced him.

"With many very, very happy returns of the day," said Sheldon Corthell,
as he held towards her a cluster of deep-blue violets.

Laura sprang to her feet, a hand upon her cheek, her eyes wide and
flashing.

"You?" was all she had breath to utter. "You?"

The artist smiled as he laid the flowers upon