nced in a matter-of-course way, "is from Miss Dorothy
Gwynne, who requests the pleasure of my company at a high-tea next
Saturday. That, or the hay-ride, Will? And this--this--"

It was a simple envelope addressed to

Miss RUTH LEVICE--
Beacham's--
... County--
Cal.

It was the sight of the dashes that caused the hiatus in her sentence,
and made her heart give one great rushing bound. The enclosure was to
the point.

SAN FRANCISCO, Aug. 18, 188--.

MISS RUTH LEVICE:

MY DEAR FRIEND,--That you may not denounce me as too presumptuous, I
shall at once explain that I am writing this at Bob's urgent desire. He
has at length got the position at the florist's, and tells me to tell
you that he is now happy. I dropped in there last night; and when he
gave me this message, I told him that I feared you would take it as an
advertisement. He merely smiled, picked up a Marechal Niel that lay on
the counter, and said, "Drop this in. It's my mark; she'll understand."
So here are Bob's rose and my apology.

HERBERT KEMP.

She was pale when she turned round to the courteously waiting boy. It
was a very cold note, and she put it in her pocket to keep it warm. The
rose she showed to Will, and told him the story of the sender.

"Didn't I tell you," he cried, when she had finished, "a doctor has the
greatest opportunity in the world to be great--and a surgeon comes near
it? I say, Miss Ruth, your Dr. Kemp must be a brick. Isn't he?"

"Boys would call him so," she answered, shivering slightly.

It was so like him, she thought, to fulfil Bob's request in his hearty,
friendly way; she supposed he wanted her to understand that he wrote to
her only as Bob's amanuensis,--it was plain enough. And yet, and
yet, she thought passionately, it would have been no more than common
etiquette to send a friendly word from himself to her mother. Still the
note was not thrown away. Girls are so irrational; if they cannot have
the hand-shake, they will content themselves with a sight of the glove.

And Ruth in the warm, throbbing, summer days was happy. She was not
always active; there were long afternoons when mere existence was
intensely beautiful. To lie at full length upon the soft turf in the
depths of the small enchanted woods, and hear and feel the countless
spells of Nature, was unspeakable rapture.

"Ah, Floy," she cried one afternoon, as she lay with her fa