r again be able to think of her as Esme
Graham but only as Esme St. Clair.

The Grahams had come to Wish-ton-wish eleven years before. There was a
big family of girls of whom the tall, brown-haired Esme was the
oldest. There was one summer during which Selwyn Grant had haunted
Wish-ton-wish, the merry comrade of the younger girls, the boyishly,
silently devoted lover of Esme. Tom St. Clair had always been there
too, in his right as second cousin, Selwyn had supposed. One day he
found out that Tom and Esme had been engaged ever since she was
sixteen; one of her sisters told him. That had been all. He had gone
away soon after, and some time later a letter from home made casual
mention of Tom St. Clair's marriage.

He narrowly missed being late for the wedding ceremony. The bridal
party entered the parlour at Wish-ton-wish at the same moment as he
slipped in by another door. Selwyn almost whistled with amazement at
sight of the bride. _That_ Alice Graham, that tall, stately, blushing
young woman, with her masses of dead-black hair, frosted over by the
film of wedding veil! Could that be the scrawny little tomboy of ten
years ago? She looked not unlike Esme, with that subtle family
resemblance that is quite independent of feature and colouring.

Where was Esme? Selwyn cast his eyes furtively over the assembled
guests while the minister read the marriage ceremony. He recognized
several of the Graham girls but he did not see Esme, although Tom St.
Clair, stout and florid and prosperous-looking, was standing on a
chair in a faraway corner, peering over the heads of the women.

After the turmoil of handshakings and congratulations, Selwyn fled to
the cool, still outdoors, where the rosy glow of Chinese lanterns
mingled with the waves of moonshine to make fairyland. And there he
met her, as she came out of the house by a side door, a tall, slender
woman in some glistening, clinging garment, with white flowers shining
like stars in the coils of her brown hair. In the soft glow she looked
even more beautiful than in the days of her girlhood, and Selwyn's
heart throbbed dangerously at sight of her.

"Esme!" he said involuntarily.

She started, and he had an idea that she changed colour, although it
was too dim to be sure. "Selwyn!" she exclaimed, putting out her
hands. "Why, Selwyn Grant! Is it really you? Or are you such stuff as
dreams are made of? I did not know you were here. I did not know you
were home."

He caught h