Harboro came upon
an interesting bit of intelligence in the Eagle Pass _Guide_, the town's
weekly newspaper. It was a Saturday afternoon (the day of the paper's
publication), and Harboro had gone up to the balcony overlooking the
garden. He had carried the newspaper with him. He did not expect to find
anything in the chronicles of local happenings, past or prospective, that
would interest him. But there was always a department of railroad
news--consisting mainly of personal items--which had for him the quality
of a letter from home.

Sylvia was down-stairs at work in the dining-room, directing the efforts
of old Antonia. Perhaps I should say that she was extraordinarily happy. I
doubt very much if she had come to contemplate the married state through
Harboro's eyes; but she seemed to have feared that an avalanche would
fall--and none had fallen. Harboro had manifested an unswerving gentleness
toward her, and she had begun to "let down," as swimmers say, with
confidence in her ability to find bottom and attain the shore.

When at length she went up to the balcony to tell Harboro that supper was
ready, she stood arrested by the pleasantly purposeful expression in his
eyes. She had learned, rather creditably, to anticipate him.

"You are to have a new dress," he announced.

"Yes.... Why?"

"I see here"--he tapped the paper on his knee--"that they're getting ready
for their first dance of the winter at the Mesquite Club."

She forgot herself. "But _we're_ not invited!" she said, frankly
incredulous.

"Why no, not yet. But we shall be. Why shouldn't we be?"

Her hand went to her heart in the old wistful way. "I don't know ... I
just thought we shouldn't be. Those affairs are for ... I've never thought
they would invite me to one of their dances."

"Nonsense! They've invited me. Now they'll invite _us_. I suppose the best
milliners are across the river, aren't they?"

She seemed unwilling to meet his eyes. "I believe some women get their
dresses made over there, and wear them back to this side--so they needn't
pay any duty. That is, if they're to be handsome dresses."

"Well, this is going to be a handsome dress."

She seemed pleased, undeniably; yet she changed the subject with evident
relief. "Antonia will be cross if we don't go right down. And you must
remember to praise the _enchalades_. She's tried with them ever so hard."
This wasn't an affectation on Sylvia's part. She was a good-hearted girl.

"It's to