and the Old Lady was convinced that she would rather
die than take any notice of his existence.

Presently, she resolutely put Andrew Cameron out of her mind. It was
desecration to think of him and Sylvia together. When she laid her weary
head on her pillow that night she was so happy that even the thought of
the vacant shelf in the room below, where the grape jug had always been,
gave her only a momentary pang.

"It's sweet to sacrifice for one we love--it's sweet to have someone to
sacrifice for," thought the Old Lady.

Desire grows by what it feeds on. The Old Lady thought she was content;
but Friday evening came and found her in a perfect fever to see Sylvia
in her party dress. It was not enough to fancy her in it; nothing would
do the Old Lady but seeing her.

"And I SHALL see her," said the Old Lady resolutely, looking out from
her window at Sylvia's light gleaming through the firs. She wrapped
herself in a dark shawl and crept out, slipping down to the hollow and
up the wood lane. It was a misty, moonlight night, and a wind, fragrant
with the aroma of clover fields, blew down the lane to meet her.

"I wish I could take your perfume--the soul of you--and pour it into her
life," said the Old Lady aloud to that wind.

Sylvia Gray was standing in her room, ready for the party. Before her
stood Mrs. Spencer and Amelia Spencer and all the little Spencer girls,
in an admiring semi-circle. There was another spectator. Outside,
under the lilac bush, Old Lady Lloyd was standing. She could see Sylvia
plainly, in her dainty dress, with the pale pink roses Old Lady Lloyd
had left at the beech that day for her in her hair. Pink as they were,
they were not so pink as her cheeks, and her eyes shone like stars.
Amelia Spencer put up her hand to push back a rose that had fallen a
little out of place, and the Old Lady envied her fiercely.

"That dress couldn't have fitted better if it had been made for you,"
said Mrs. Spencer admiringly. "Ain't she lovely, Amelia? Who COULD have
sent it?"

"Oh, I feel sure that Mrs. Moore was the fairy godmother," said Sylvia.
"There is nobody else who would. It was dear of her--she knew I wished
so much to go to the party with Janet. I wish Aunty could see me now."
Sylvia gave a little sigh in spite of her joy. "There's nobody else to
care very much."

Ah, Sylvia, you were wrong! There was somebody else--somebody who cared
very much--an Old Lady, with eager, devouring eyes, who was stand