that was as white as the delicate lace
about her throat, she went slowly toward the drawing-room to learn her
fate.

Wallace, no less nervous and perturbed than herself, was pacing the
elegant apartment, but stopped and turned eagerly toward Violet as she
entered, his face luminous in spite of the stern self-control which he
had resolved to exercise.

All the light died out of it however as he saw how pale she was.

"Violet!--Miss Huntington! are you ill?" he cried, regarding her
anxiously.

Again the rich color surged up to her brow at the sound of his dear
voice, for the tremulous tenderness in it told her that his heart was
all her own, and her elastic spirits rebounded at once.

She shot a shy, sweet glance up into his earnest face, a witching little
smile began to quiver about her lovely lips, then she said,
half-saucily, but with charming confusion:

"No--I am not ill; I--was only afraid that I had done something
dreadful. Have I?"

All the worldly wisdom, with which the young man had tried to arm
himself, in order to shield the girl whom he so fondly loved from rashly
doing what she might regret later, gave way at that, and before he was
aware of what he was doing he had gathered her close in his arms.

"My darling! no," he said; "you have done only what was true and noble,
and I honor you with my whole soul. If all women were one-half as
ingenuous there would be, as you have said, less misery in the world.
But so many are simply worldly-wise--thinking more of wealth and
position than they do of true affection, that their hearts starve, their
lives are warped and ruined. Violet, my heart's dearest, how shall I
tell you of my heart's great love? I cannot tell it--I shall have to let
a life-time of devotion attest it, but you have glorified my whole
future by assuring me of your affection."

"Oh, I was afraid you would think me very bold--that you would regard me
with contempt," Violet sighed, tremulously. "After my letter had gone,
and I tried to think over what I had written more calmly, and to wonder
how you would regard it, I was almost sorry that I had sent it."

"'Almost,' but not really sorry?" questioned Wallace, with a fond smile.

"No, for I had to tell you the truth, if I told you anything, and no one
can be sorry for being strictly candid," she returned, "and," with a
resolute uplifting of her pretty head, while she looked him straight in
the eyes, "why should I not tell you just what was