ever? Has
he given the sun a black eye with his sling-shot? My father's always
praising Laurence in his letters."

Now my mother adores Laurence. She patterns upon this model every
young man she meets, and if they are not Laurence-sized she does not
include them in her good graces. But she seldom lifts her voice in
praise of her favorite. She is far, far too wise.

"Laurence generally looks in upon us during the evening, if he is not
too busy," she said, non-committally. "You see, people are beginning
to find out what a really fine lawyer Laurence is, so cases are coming
to him steadily."

The trunks had arrived, and Mary Virginia changed into white, in which
she glowed and sparkled like a fire opal. We three dined together, and
as she became more and more animated, a pink flush stole into her
rather pale cheeks and her eyes deepened and darkened. She was vividly
alive. One could see why Mary Virginia was classed as a great beauty,
although, strictly speaking, she was no such thing. But she had that
compelling charm which one simply cannot express in words. It was
there, and you felt it. She did not take your heart by storm,
willynilly. You watched her, and presently you gave her your heart
willingly, delighted that a creature so lovely and so unaffected and
worth loving had crossed your path.

She chatted with my mother about that world which the older woman had
once graced, and my mother listened without a shade to darken her
smooth forehead. But I do not think I ever so keenly appreciated the
many sacrifices she had made for me, until that night.

The autumn evening had grown chilly, and we had a fire in the
clean-swept fireplace. The old brass dogs sparkled in the blaze, and
the shadows flickered and danced on the walls, and across the faces of
De Rance portraits; the pleasant room was full of a ruddy, friendly
glow. My mother sat in her low rocker, making something or other out
of pink and white wools for the baby upstairs. Mary Virginia, at the
old square piano, sang for us. She had a charming voice, carefully
cultivated and sweet, and she played with great feeling.

Kerry barked at the gate, as he always does when home is reached. My
mother, dropping her work, ran to the window which gives upon the
garden, and called. A moment later the Butterfly Man, with Laurence
just back of him, and Kerry squeezing in between them, stood in the
door. Mary Virginia, lips parted, eyes alight, hands outstretched,
arose.