r, although Albert felt that he was one too many, and
all the afternoon and evening it was the same. But Alice was
graciousness personified. All her jokes and smiles and all her
conversation were lavished upon Frank. It may be that she wished to make
amends for the opportunities she knew he was anxious to obtain but could
not, for the most charming of women have a little of the feline instinct
in their nature, and whether there is any response to a man's wooing in
their hearts or not, they love to enjoy their power. Several times
Frank, who intuitively felt she did not wish to be left alone with him,
started to ask her to take a walk that Sunday evening, but each time his
discretion prevailed. "If she is willing to listen to any love-making,
she has tact enough to give me a chance," he thought, "and unless she
is, I'd better keep still." Which would show he had at least a faint
inkling of woman's ways. The evening was one to tempt Cupid, for the
moonlight fell checkered through the half-naked elms along the roadway,
and where here and there a group of maples stood was a bit of shadow.
The whippoorwills had just returned to Sandgate, and over the meadows
scattered fireflies twinkled. The houses along the way to the village
were wide apart and the evening air just right for a loitering walk. To
Frank, anxious to say a few words that would further his hopes in the
direction of this bewitching girl, it seemed a waste of good time not to
take advantage of the evening. It was almost past, and the lights in the
houses across the valley had long since vanished when he obtained a
little consolation.

The charm of the evening had stilled conversation and no one had spoken
for a long time when he said, rather disconsolately, "My anticipated
visit is almost over. May I ask you to go in and sing just one song for
me, Miss Page?"

"With pleasure," she responded in her sweetest tone, "what shall it be?"

"I will leave that to your selection," he replied.

Without a word she led the way in and began searching among the pile of
music on the piano, and finding what she wanted, opened and spread the
music on the rack.

It was "Ben Bolt."

She sang it in a minor key, and as the opening words,

"Oh, don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt,"

floated out on the still evening air, they seemed to him fraught with a
new meaning and that a veritable sweet Alice was bidding him, another
Ben Bolt, not to forget her. When the last not