houlder. There! I oughtn't to have said that," she added with a
little grimace. "Don't tell Jack."

I certainly had no thought of telling Jack.

"As for you, Floyd," she went on more softly, "you will never grow so
hard-hearted. To the end of your life all the beautiful faces in the world
will set you dreaming. Do you think I have forgotten the old days when you
told me about Mignon and Rosalind, Mary Queen of Scots, Helen, Cleopatra,
and Gretchen in that tiresome German poem you used to be so fond of
reading. Even the thought of those fair women--some of them mere poetic
creations, others mortal women long since gone to dust--used to cause you
more heart-throbs than Jack will ever feel for all the rosy cheeks and
bright eyes that are close beside him."

"Upon my word," said I abruptly, "you don't begin to know Jack's feeling
for you."

"Pshaw! That is what he is always telling me. I know he wants to marry me:
he has a talent for the domestic. His most romantic dream is of a
fireside, an easy-chair and me." She looked up at me and laughed. "I
suppose," she went on with a resigned air, "that I shall have to wear
aprons and make puddings. But enough of our prosaic menage: I shall not be
married for a year yet. Talk to me about something else--about your
mother, Mr. Floyd and Helen--about everybody except that odious Mr.
Raymond."

"My mother is in New York with my aunt, Mrs. Woolsey," I returned. "We
were all--my mother, Helen and Mr. Raymond, and I--at Mr. Floyd's house in
Washington through the holidays. I have seen none of them since."

Georgy looked at me with peculiar intentness. "Tell me about that," she
said eagerly.

"About our visit? Oh, it was pleasant. Mr. Floyd had planned it several
times, but something had always happened hitherto to prevent it. Of course
we saw constantly all the foremost people. Mr. Floyd had a dinner-party
every night, and my mother and Helen were no end of belles."

"Helen! little Helen a belle?"

"You would have thought so. She presided at the table, and the old men
were in ecstasies over her beauty, grace and grand manners. Mr. Floyd was
so happy and proud he could not keep his eyes from her."

"She is only fifteen," observed Georgy, a little dissatisfaction clouding
her lovely face. "She is too young to be in society. But she has
everything, can do everything: it has always been so. Oh, if I were that
girl!--I suppose you are in love with her, Floyd."

"I in love with Hel