ast expensive thing you have had in that line in
some time?"

The amused laugh with which this observation was greeted might have been
disconcerting to anybody but Anthony Robeson, but he maintained his ground
with calmness.

"How many of these do you think you can furnish Mrs. Anthony with in a
year?" Juliet inquired, her lips forcing themselves to soberness, but the
laughter lingering in her eyes.

"Several, as girlishly demure as that, I fancy," asserted the young man
with confidence.

But Juliet's momentary gravity broke down. "Oh, you clever boy!" she said.
"I shall advise Mrs. Anthony to send you shopping for her when she needs a
new frock. You will order home just what she wants without stopping to ask
the price, you will be so confident that you know a cheap thing when you
see it. Afterward you will pay the bill--and then the awful frown on your
brow! You will have to live on bread and milk for a month to get your
accounts straightened out. Oh, Tony!--No, I shouldn't do for a poor man's
wife--not judging by this 'girlishly demure' gown, you poor lamb.--But,
Tony," with a swift change of manner, "I do think the little house will be
very charming indeed. I can hardly wait to know that the painting and
papering are done, so that we can go down and get things in order. I long
to arrange those fascinating new tin things in that bit of a cupboard.
Tony"--turning to him solemnly--"does _she_ know how to cook?"

"I think she is learning now," he assured her. "Seems to me she mentioned
it in to-day's----" He fumbled in his breast-pocket and brought out a
letter.

Juliet stole an interested glance at it. She observed that there were
three closely written sheets of the heavy linen paper, and that the
handwriting was one suggestive of a pleasing individuality. Anthony, in
the dim twilight, was scanning page after page in a lover's absorbed way.
Juliet walked along by his side in silence. She was thinking of the face
in the photograph, and wondering if Miss Eleanor Langham really loved
Anthony Robeson as he deserved to be loved.

"For he is a dear, dear fellow," she said to herself, "and if she could
just see him planning so enthusiastically for her comfort, even if he does
have to economise, she'd----"

"No, it's not in this letter," observed Anthony, putting the sheets
together with a lingering touch which did not escape his companion's quick
eyes. "It must have been in yesterday's."

"Does she write every day?"