they had been days of pleasantness. Once, Francis had openly remarked
that he wondered how soon Mrs. Verdon and Wayne would come to an
understanding; and Mrs. Lennard had replied that it was only the
unexpected that ever came to pass.

The dear old lady, in her black silk dress and Honiton lace cap, came
rustling softly into the room on this golden evening.

"Elsie," she said, "you are to wear my flowers. Mr. Ryan is cutting some
in the greenhouse at this moment, but I am before him. Gloire de Dijon
roses and scarlet geranium set in maidenhair! Isn't that a lovely spray?
Your old friend knows what will become you best!"

"Of course she does," responded Elsie, with a kiss. "They are perfectly
beautiful flowers, and no one else could have arranged them so well.
Flowers suit me ever so much better than jewels, Mrs. Lennard."

"Yes, my dear. But where are your mother's diamonds?"

"I have not got them," Elsie answered quietly. "I saw Bertha wearing
them just before my father died. Don't be vexed, dearest Mrs. Lennard."

But the old lady was vexed; a flush mounted to the roots of her silver
hair, and her foot beat upon the carpet.

"Then I suppose some of Robert's creditors have got them now," she said
angrily. "Bertha deserves all that she has had to bear. It is just
chastisement. I wonder that you can take your wrongs so patiently!"

Elsie turned to her gently, with a wonderfully sweet look in her brown
eyes.

"I was not patient at first," she answered. "There was a battle to
fight. Afterwards, Meta helped me."

"Meta?" repeated Mrs. Lennard in a puzzled tone. "Ah, you mean the lady
who was engaged to Harold Waring. How did she help you, my dear?"

"I think it was the touch of her vanished hand that calmed me," Elsie
said in a hushed tone. "Like Hamlet, 'I am very proud, revengeful,
ambitious;' I was glad at first when I heard of Bertha's humiliation.
And then I read Meta's story in her manuscript, and knew that she had
suffered more than I, and had forgiven."

She stood quite still a moment, a graceful figure enfolded in golden
light, with an exalted look on her face.

"Elsie," Mrs. Lennard said suddenly, "you are a beautiful woman. You are
like some one in a poem, child! There is a certain kind of beauty that
only comes through pain."

Elsie smiled at her, and began to fasten the flowers in her bodice. They
gave the finishing touch to her dress, and suited her, as she had said,
better than jewels.

Th