progress in her
studies. She was to graduate first of her class. She did not even
have to work very hard to accomplish it. Maria had a mind of
marvellous quickness of grasp. Possibly her retentive powers were not
entirely in proportion, but, at all events, she accomplished much
with comparatively little labor.

Harry was very proud of her. The evening before her graduation Ida
had gone to New York to the theatre and Evelyn was in bed, and Maria
dressed herself in her graduation gown, which was charming--Ida had
never neglected her, in respect to dress, at least--and came down to
show herself to her father. He would not be able to be present at the
graduation on account of an unusual press of business. Maria came so
lightly that she almost seemed to float into the room, with her fine
white draperies trailing behind her and her knots of white ribbon
fluttering, and stood before her father.

"Father," said she, "I want you to see the way I'll look to-morrow.
Isn't this dress pretty?"

"Lovely," said Harry. "It is very becoming, too," he added.

Indeed, Maria really looked pretty again in this charming costume.
During the last few months her cheeks had filled out and she had
gotten some lovely curves of girlhood. Her eyes shone with a peculiar
brilliancy, her red lips trembled into a smile, her hair, in a fluff
above her high forehead, caught the light.

Maria laughed gayly. "Take care, father, or you will make me vain,"
she said.

"You have some reason to be," Harry said, honestly. "You are going to
graduate first in your class, and--well, you are pretty, dear--at
least you are to father, and, I guess, to other folks."

Maria blushed. "Only to father, because he is partial," she said.
Then she went up to him and rubbed her blooming cheek against his.
"Do you know what makes me happier than anything else?" she
said--"happier than graduating first, happier than my pretty dress,
happier than anything?"

"No. What, dear?"

"Feeling that you are well again."

There was an almost imperceptible pause before Harry replied. Then he
said, in his pleasant voice, which had never grown old, "Yes, dear; I
am better, dear, I think."

"Think," Maria said, gayly. "Why, you are well, father. Don't you
know you are well?"

"Yes, I think I am better, dear."

"Better? You are well. Nobody can look as young and handsome as you
do and be ill, possibly. You are well, father. I know you can't quite
get what that horrid old croa