face turned scarlet.

"You must excuse me," he pleaded. "I'll cure myself of it! Jest give me
a chance."

This was a little more personal than Kate approved of, and she raised
her parasol to conceal her annoyance. It was a brilliant little fluff
of a thing which looked as if it were made of butterflies' wings. Roeder
touched it with awe.

"You have sech beautiful things," he said. "I didn't know women wore
sech nice things. Now that dress--it's like--I don't know what it's
like." It was a simple little taffeta, with warp and woof of azure and
of cream, and gay knots of ribbon about it.

"We have the advantage of men," she said. "I often think one of the
greatest drawbacks to being a man would be the sombre clothes. I like to
wear the prettiest things that can be found."

"Lace?" queried Roeder. "Do you like lace?"

"I should say so! Did you ever see a woman who didn't?"

"Hu--um! These women I've known don't know lace,--these wives of th' men
out here. They're th' only kind I've seen this long time."

"Oh, of course, but I mean--"

"I know what you mean. My mother has a chest full of linen an' lace. She
showed it t' me th' day I left. 'Peter,' she said, 'some day you bring a
wife home with you, an' I'll give you that lace an' that linen.' An' I'm
goin' t' do it, too," he said quietly.

"I hope so," said Kate, with her eyes moist. "I hope you will, and that
your mother will be very happy."

. . . . . . .

There was a hop at the hotel that night, and it was almost a matter of
courtesy for Kate to go. Ladies were in demand, for there were not very
many of them at the hotel. Every one was expected to do his best to make
it a success; and Kate, not at all averse to a waltz or two, dressed
herself for the occasion with her habitual striving after artistic
effect. She was one of those women who make a picture of themselves as
naturally as a bird sings. She had an opal necklace which Jack had given
her because, he said, she had as many moods as an opal had colors; and
she wore this with a crepe gown, the tint of the green lights in
her necklace. A box of flowers came for her as she was dressing; they
were Puritan roses, and Peter Roeder's card was in the midst of
them. She was used to having flowers given her. It would have seemed
remarkable if some one had not sent her a bouquet when she was going to
a ball.

"I shall dance but twice," she said to those who sought her for a
partner. "Neither more nor less."