r! It's an advertisement."

"Heavens! What a decoration. I should like to have the criticism of that
picture. I've brought you those picture-galleries, you know; that's what
I've come for."

"Thank you! That's very good of you. I'll send it to the printers at
once." He took the roll and placed it in a pigeon-hole, without taking
his eyes off her face.

"Why don't you throw that awful staring thing away?" she asked,
contemplating the steamer with a morbid fascination, "and sweep away the
old papers, and have a few little water-colors hung up and put a vase of
flowers on your desk. I wish I had the control of the office for a
week."

"I wish you had," he said gallantly. "I can't find time to think of
those things. I am sure you are brightening it up already."

The little blush on her cheek deepened. Compliment was unwonted with
him; and indeed, he spoke as he felt. The sight of her seated so
strangely and unexpectedly in his own humdrum sanctum; the imaginary
picture of her beautifying it and evolving harmony out of the chaos with
artistic touches of her dainty hands, filled him with pleasant, tender
thoughts, such as he had scarce known before. The commonplace editorial
chair seemed to have undergone consecration and poetic transformation.
Surely the sunshine that streamed through the dusty window would for
ever rest on it henceforwards. And yet the whole thing appeared
fantastic and unreal.

"I hope you are speaking the truth," replied Esther with a little laugh.
"You need brightening, you old dry-as-dust philanthropist, sitting
poring over stupid manuscripts when you ought to be in the country
enjoying the sunshine." She spoke in airy accents, with an undercurrent
of astonishment at her attack of high spirits on an occasion she had
designed to be harrowing.

"Why, I haven't _looked_ at your manuscript yet," he retorted gaily, but
as he spoke there flashed upon him a delectable vision of blue sea and
waving pines with one fair wood-nymph flitting through the trees, luring
him on from this musty cell of never-ending work to unknown ecstasies of
youth and joyousness. The leafy avenues were bathed in sacred sunlight,
and a low magic music thrilled through the quiet air. It was but the
dream of a second--the dingy walls closed round him again, the great
ugly steamer, that never went anywhere, sailed on. But the wood-nymph
did not vanish; the sunbeam was still on the editorial chair, lighting
up the little face with