eyes.

"'"Old Valentines, and Other Poems," by John Landless, will appear
shortly,'" she fictitiously quoted. She had read such announcements
weekly, in his "Academy."

"Oh, John, those horrid publishers won't retract their offer, will
they?"

"My darling girl, where did you get this money?"

"I will tell you all about it, John, dear; but first answer my
question? There isn't any doubt, is there? The book can be published
now?"

"Why--no; or rather--yes," he said slowly. "If the money is really ours,
to do with as we please,--even to embark on so wild an adventure as a
book of poems. I can't conceive how you came by it, though, dearest."

John held the ten-pound notes in his hand; he looked at them now, as if
half surprised to find them still there.

Then Phyllis told him of her call at Mr. Rowlandson's shop; she
remembered every word of the conversation; and came out especially
strong on the rigid regularity of the transaction; the signed note, and
the five per cent, payable half-yearly, on the appointed day. John's
face was a study.

"Oh, Phyllis! Phyllis!" he said softly, when she had finished. "You
would have sold your valentines--that you love so dearly! the old
valentines that are entwined with your memories of your mother. You
would have sold them! For me!"

Phyllis smiled happily at him and gave him both of her hands, across the
little dinner table. When he could trust his voice, he said,--

"I am confident of my book. If I were not, of course, I couldn't let you
do this, darling; dear as it was of you to think of it,--and to execute
it so cleverly--so very cleverly. Old Rowlandson is a brick."

"He is a very shrewd man of business," said Phyllis, looking at John
with misgivings "He always has a sum of ready money laid by, for
perfectly businesslike investments."

"Of course," he reassured her.

He knew he could meet the interest on Phyllis's note. As to the
principal--well, if worst came to worst he would be justified in
breaking his promise to his father that he would never borrow on his
expectations. Justified! John could almost see his father's smile of
approval.

They sat in the big armchair together, and read the poems to be included
in the little book.

"If I succeed in my profession I shall owe it all to you," said John to
Phyllis; and, when she would have made remonstrance, he added,--"Ah, my
dear, I like to have it so."

* * * * *

At the same hour