ad been coupled with Garth Dalmain's all the season.
Jane felt certain she was just the wife he needed. Her loveliness would
content him, her shrewd common-sense and straightforward, practical
ways would counterbalance his somewhat erratic temperament, and her
adaptability would enable her to suit herself to his surroundings, both
in his northern home and amongst his large circle of friends down
south. Once married, he would give up raving about Flower and Myra, and
kissing people's hands in that--"absurd way," Jane was going to say,
but she was invariably truthful, even in her thoughts, and substituted
"extraordinary" as the more correct adjective--in that extraordinary
way.

She sat forward in her chair with her elbows on her knees, and held her
large hands before her, palms upward, realising again the sensations of
that moment. Then she pulled herself up sharply. "Jane Champion, don't
be a fool! You would wrong that dear, beauty-loving boy, more than you
would wrong yourself, if you took him for one moment seriously. His
homage to-night was no more personal to you than his appreciation of
the excellent dinner was personal to Aunt Georgina's chef. In his
enjoyment of the production, the producer was included; but that was
all. Be gratified at the success of your art, and do not spoil that
success by any absurd sentimentality. Now wash your very ungainly hands
and go to bed." Thus Jane to herself.

* * * * *

And under the oaks, with soft turf beneath his feet, stood Garth
Dalmain, the shy deer sleeping around unconscious of his presence; the
planets above, hanging like lamps in the deep purple of the sky. And
he, also, soliloquised.

"I have found her," he said, in low tones of rapture, "the ideal woman,
the crown of womanhood, the perfect mate for the spirit, soul, and body
of the man who can win her.--Jane! Jane! Ah, how blind I have been! To
have known her for years, and yet not realised her to be this. But she
lifted the veil, and I passed in. Ah grand, noble heart! She will never
be able to draw the veil again between her soul and mine. And she has
no rosary. I thank God for that. No other man possesses, or has ever
possessed, that which I desire more than I ever desired anything upon
this earth, Jane's love, Jane's tenderness. Ah, what will it mean? 'I
count each pearl.' She WILL count them some day--her pearls and mine.
God spare us the cross. Must there be a cross to every true ro