her up, a Lohengrin
sent from Heaven!

She shuddered and hid her face in her hands. At last she crept into bed.
Mandy, coming in to straighten the room, was told to lower the curtains.

"My--my head aches, Mandy."

Mandy, wise old Mandy, knew of course that it was her heart. "You res'
an' sleep, honey," she said, and moved about quietly setting things in
order.

But Becky did not sleep. She lay wide awake, and tried to get the thing
straight in her mind. How had it happened? Where had she failed? Oh, why
hadn't Sister Loretto told her that there were men like this? Why hadn't
Aunt Claudia returned in time?

In the big box which Mandy had brought up were clothes--exquisite things
which Becky had ordered from New York. She had thought it a miracle
that George should have fallen in love with her believing her poor. It
showed, she felt, his splendidness, his kingly indifference to--poverty.
Yet she had planned a moment when he should know. When their love was
proclaimed to the world he should see her in a splendor which matched
his own. He had loved her in spite of her faded cottons, in spite of her
shabby shoes. She had made up her list carefully, thinking of his
sparkling eyes when he beheld her.

She got out of bed and opened the box. The lovely garments were wrapped
in rosy tissue paper, and tied with ribbons to match. It seemed to Becky
as if those rosy wrappings held the last faint glow of her dreams.

She untied the ribbons of the top parcel, and disclosed a frock of fine
white lace--there was cloth of silver for a petticoat, and silver
slippers. She would have worn her pearls, and George and she would have
danced together at the Harvest Ball at the Merriweathers. It was an
annual and very exclusive affair in the county. It was not likely that
the Watermans and their guests would be invited, but there would have
been a welcome for Dalton as her friend--her more than friend.

There was a white lace wrap with puffs of pink taffeta and knots of
silver ribbon which went with the gown. Becky with a sudden impulse put
it on. She stripped the cap from her head, and wound her bronze locks
in a high knot. She surveyed herself.

Well, she was Becky Bannister of Huntersfield--and the mirror showed her
beauty. And Dalton had not known or cared. He thought her poor, and had
thrown her aside like an old glove!

Down-stairs the telephone rang. Old Mandy, coming up to say that Mr.
Randy was on the wire, stood in amazemen