he
quivering, spent horse, her own heart beating quickly, her own breath
coming hard, she was a picture of vivid beauty.

Her dress was disordered, her hair hung in loosened coils, her collar
was half torn off by the wind, but the happy smile and the justifiable
pride in her success lighted up her countenance till it was fairly
radiant.

"By cricky, you're stunning!" exclaimed Phil, under his breath, as he
grasped her hand in congratulation.

And so, because of his praise and appreciation Azalea forgot her fears
of censure from the Farnsworths and gave herself up to the delights of
the moment.

She would not have felt so comfortable had she heard Patty's remarks at
sight of the picture.

Patty and Mona had come to the theatre later than Azalea, and had been
given seats on the other side of the large house. The darkness, too,
made it unlikely that they should see each other, and so Azalea remained
in blissful ignorance of Patty's presence.

* * * * *

"Of course, it's Azalea," Patty said to Mona, the moment the girl
appeared on the screen. "I--oh, I don't know _what_ to think about
it,--but, isn't she splendid!"

"She is! That rig is most becoming to her, and she has such poise,--so
strong and free, yet graceful."

"She's certainly at her best."

"Of course, the director saw her possibilities and has brought out all
her best points. How pretty her hair is,--loose, like that."

"Yes, she's a real beauty,--of the true breezy, Western type. But, Mona,
what _will_ Bill say? I do believe I shall feel more lenient about it
all than he will! He is conservative, you know, for all his Western
bringing up. Oh, my gracious, Mona, _what's_ she doing now?"

"She'll kill herself with that wild horse! She _never_ can get on his
back!"

In a state of great excitement, they watched Azalea's skilful management
of the pony and clutched each other's hands in speechless fear as she
tore through the gale to rescue her brother's child.

And then--when at last Azalea emerged from the tumbled-down ruin of the
little old house, with a baby in her arms, Patty gave a cry of startled
fear, and then clapped her hand over her mouth, lest her dismay be too
evident to those sitting near by.

"Mona!" she whispered, "it's Fleurette!"

"No! I don't believe it! You can't tell,--such a _little_ baby--they all
look alike,--you're imagining, Patty--"

"It is! it _is_! That's where they went when Azalea took