he one woman in all time for him, more could be said in
her praise still; her like was not outside heaven. How much this
splendid lake, with sapphire sky and green shores, lacked of true beauty
until she stepped like light into view; then, as for the first time, one
saw the green woods glisten, the waters sparkle anew, the sky deepen in
richness! One had to know her heart, her nature, so nobly dowered, to
see this lighting up of nature's finest work at her coming. She was
beautiful, white as milk, with eyes like jewels, framed in lashes of
silken black, so dark, so dark!

Honora wept at the sight of his face as he went away. She had seen that
despair in her father's face. And she wept to-day as she sat on the
rough bench. Had she been to blame? Why had she delayed her entrance
into the convent a year beyond the time? Arthur had declared his work
could not get on without her for at least an extra half year. She was
lingering still? Had present comfort shaken her resolution?

A cry roused her from her mournful thoughts, and she looked up to see
Mona rounding the point at the other end of the stony beach, laboring at
the heavy oars. Honora smiled and waved her handkerchief. Here was one
woman for whom life had no problems, only solid contentment, and
perennial interest; and who thought her husband the finest thing in the
world. She beached her boat and found her way up to the top of the rock.
To look at her no one would dream, Honora certainly did not, that she
had any other purpose than breathing the air.

Mrs. Doyle Grahame enjoyed the conviction that marriage settles all
difficulties, if one goes about it rightly. She had gone about it
rightly, with marvellous results. That charming bear her father had put
his neck in her yoke, and now traveled about in her interest as mild as
a clam. All men gasped at the sight of his meekness. When John Everard
Grahame arrived on this planet, his grandfather fell on his knees before
him and his parents, and never afterwards departed from that attitude.
Doyle Grahame laid it to his art of winning a father-in-law. Mona found
the explanation simply in the marriage, which to her, from the making of
the trousseau to the christening of the boy, had been wonderful enough
to have changed the face of the earth. The delicate face, a trifle
fuller, had increased in dignity. Her hair flamed more glorious than
ever. As a young matron she patronized Honora now an old maid.

"You've been crying,"