ng that realizes a romantic dream of mine. The dream
has been hovering vaguely about me for nearly two years; but I never
ventured to teach myself exactly what it was until to-day."

"Realized here? in the Academy?"

"It was foreshadowed--promised, at home this morning; but it was
realized here."

"Did you know beforehand that I was coming?"

"Not until to-day. Mrs. Leith Fairfax said that you would most likely be
here."

"And you are happy?"

"So much so that I cannot help talking about my happiness to you, who
are the very last person--as you will admit when everything is
explained--to whom I should unlock my lips on the subject."

"And why? Am I not interested in your happiness?"

"I suppose so. I hope so. But when you learn the truth, you will be more
astonished than gratified."

"I dare swear that you are mistaken. Is this dream of yours an affair of
the heart?"

"Now you are beginning to ask questions."

"Well, I will ask no more at present. But if you fear that my long
absence has rendered me indifferent in the least degree to your
happiness, you do me a great injustice."

"Well, you were not in a very good humor with me when you went away."

"I will forget that if you wish me to."

"I do wish you to forget it. And you forgive me?"

"Most assuredly."

"Then we are the best friends in the world again. This is a great deal
better than meeting and pretending to ignore the very thing of which our
minds are full. You will not delay visiting us any longer now, I hope."

"I will call on your father to-morrow morning. May I?"

"He is out of town until Monday. He will be delighted to see you then.
He has been talking to me about you a great deal of late. But if you
want to see him in the morning you had better go to the club. I will
write to him to-night if you like; so that he can write to you and make
an appointment."

"Do. Ah, Marian, instinct is better and truer than intellect. I have
been for two years trying to believe all kinds of evil of you; and yet I
knew all the time that you were an angel."

Marian laughed. "I suppose that under our good understanding I must let
you say pretty things to me. You must write me a sonnet before your
enthusiasm evaporates. I am sure I deserve it as well as Clytemnestra."

"I will. But I fear I shall tear it up for its unworthiness afterward."

"Dont: I am not a critic. Talking of critics, where has Mrs. Leith
Fairfax gone to? Oh, there she is!"

Mrs. F