ly.' Did you ever read an
English book of that title?" And then in the most matter-of-fact way in
the world he proceeded to assist her into the heavy winter cloak he had
lifted from its accustomed peg. "No, of course you haven't," he went on,
chatting unconcernedly, and well knowing she was too overwrought to talk
at all; "a girl who works from morning till late at night has little
chance to read anything beyond stenographic notes and hideous
hieroglyphics--mine, for instance. Now, this sensible head-gear, if you
please---- How can a woman wear a hat in winter? Yes, it's on quite
straight,--quite as straight as though you had a glass in front of you.
Now the overshoes. No, pardon me, Miss Wallen, you're not going to put
them on yourself. Sit down, if you please, or stand, if you don't." And
down he dropped on one knee and in a trice had stowed away the thin,
worn little boots, with their frayed button-holes, within the warm yet
clumsy Arctics. "You are sensible to wear such things as these," he
said. "The snow is falling heavily, and I mean to walk you home
to-night. Now the gloves.--Yes, you may have your own way there, as I
shouldn't know how." And, so saying, he seemed calmly to have taken
possession of the hitherto self-willed and independent young woman, who
for the first time in her life began to realize how much sweetness there
was, after all, in having some one to do something for one, instead of
being expected to do everything for every one else. She submitted
silently to be led forth into the cool, fresh evening air, and then when
he as calmly took her hand and placed it within his arm she made no move
to withdraw it, neither did she seem to know how by means of it to lean
upon his strength. Passively she let it lie, and, walking by his side,
turned her face to the drifting snowflakes and cared not that the night
was raw and chill, the lake wind blustering.

For a moment more Forrest did not speak. He glanced keenly up the dim
avenue, holding his head very high, as was his way, and himself very
erect. Already the sting and shame of her recent experience seemed
fading in Jenny's past. There was something so new, strange, sweet, in
this masterful assumption on his part of all control and command, there
was something so complete in her faith in him, something so like girlish
admiration if not hero-worship surging up in the throbbing little heart
beneath that worn old winter cloak, that much of her old bright,
buo