y a week past Dorothy had been looking forward to
this holiday and calculating how she should spend it.

"But you will be so disappointed, little one," he reiterated, earnestly,
and not a little puzzled by the way she took it.

Again she laughed--a little, light, airy laugh that somehow grated on
his nerves.

"I was thinking," he continued, "that perhaps you would like to go
somewhere with my cousin Barbara--go up the river, or to a matinee, or
some place like that. I would pay all the bills, of course, and--"

"Go with your cousin Barbara?" she cut in. "No, I guess not. It's just
like you not to want me to have a good time. If _you_ can't be there,
Jack Garner, pray excuse me from going with _her_!"

He looked down at her with grieved eyes.

"Barbara is not as young and gay as you are, I know, dear," he said,
huskily; "but, oh! if you only knew what a good, gentle soul she is, and
how kind her heart is! She would go out of her way--do anything she
could to give you a few hours' pleasure, because--because she knows how
dear you are to me."

Dorothy shrugged her shoulders and curled her pretty red lips
scornfully. Barbara Hallenbeck, his quiet, sedate cousin, was
four-and-twenty. No wonder that gay little Dorothy did not consider her
quite companionable for a day's outing.

"She would be very glad to take you to the matinee, Dorothy," he
persisted. "_Do_ consent to go with her, and then I will feel quite
happy, for I shall feel sure that you are having a pleasant day, even if
I am not with you. Otherwise, I should be so troubled, thinking of you
sitting all alone in the house."

She looked up innocently into his face.

"I need not stay in the house if I do not like," she retorted. "There's
a number of girls from the bindery going on an excursion up the river,
and they have invited me."

Poor, innocent Jack! it did not occur to him then that, although she had
remarked she was invited, she had not said she was going. He jumped at
conclusions readily enough.

"I am so glad, Dorothy!" he exclaimed, joyfully. "I know if you are with
a crowd of the girls the day will pass pleasantly for you. But you will
not forget in the midst of all your happiness to give a thought to me,
will you?" he whispered, with a world of tenderness in his voice.

"Of course not," she said, promptly.

"Especially when your eye rests upon our betrothal-ring," he added,
wistfully.

Dorothy blushed alarmingly red, then paled as quickly