and. "I have
something to do in here. Good-bye, Mr.--Godfather."

He had lifted his hat and taken her hand. "Good-bye, Miss Baumhagen."
And hesitatingly he asked--"Shall you be at the ball to-night?"

"Yes," she nodded, "at the request of the higher powers," and her blue
eyes rested quietly on his face. There was nothing of youthful pleasure
and joyful expectation to be read in them. "Mamma would have been in
despair if I had declined. Good-night, Mr. Linden."

The young man stood outside as she disappeared into the shop. He stood
still for a moment, then he went on his way.

So that was Gertrude Baumhagen! He really regretted that that was her
name, for he had taken a prejudice against the name, which he had
associated with vulgar purse-pride. The conversation at the hotel table
recurred to him. He had figured to himself a supercilious blonde who
used her privileges as a Baumhagen and the richest girl in the city, to
subject her admirers to all manner of caprices. And he had found the
Gertrude of the church, a lovely, slender girl, with a simple unspoiled
nature, possessing no other pride than that of a noble woman.

Involuntarily he walked faster. He would accept the kind invitation to
the ball. But when he reached the hotel he had changed his mind again.
He did not care to see her as a modern society woman, he would not
efface that lovely picture he had seen through the window of that poor
little house. He could not have borne it if she had met him in the
brilliant ball-room, with that air of condescension with which he had
heard her reproached to-day. He decided to dine at home.

With this thought he had walked down the street again till he reached
the flower-shop. On a sudden impulse he entered and asked for a simple
bouquet.

The woman had an immense bouquet in her hand at the moment, resembling
a cart-wheel surrounded by rich lace, which she was just giving to the
errand-boy.

"For Miss Baumhagen," she said, "here is the card."

Frank Linden saw a coat-of-arms over the name. He stepped back a
moment, undecided what to do. Then the shopwoman turned towards him.

"A simple bouquet," he repeated. There was none ready, but they could
make up one immediately. The young man himself chose the flowers from
the wet sand and gave them to her. It must have been a pleasant
occupation for he was constantly putting back a rose and substituting a
finer one for it. At last it was finished, a graceful bouquet of white