s house,
and he was Mr. Page. What did I want?

Before I could explain, a voice spoke at my elbow, and Margery stepped
into the flickering circle of light. "Only to ask you for shelter,"
she said.

The man in the dressing gown stared at her, then recognition sprang
into his face, and he put down the candle hastily. "Margery Gans!" he
cried.

"None other," she answered. "Margery Gans, at your service, or,
rather, at your door, and, with her, Mr. Page Winslow, to whom she
owes her presence here and an evening of experiences besides. We are
just from the dance at the club, at which, sir, you failed me. Is it a
welcome, or must we go further?"

He held the door open and began to explain. Presently he realized that
I was standing by, and urged me to come in. But I said no, I must
return to the club, and all the while I looked at Margery, hoping for
some little sign.

But she kept her face resolutely upon her host, and said nothing.
Then, as I turned to go, she laid a hand upon his arm. "Oh!" she
exclaimed, "I had almost forgotten my trunk! It is in the car. Could
you find some one to bring it in?"

"Of course," he said, and turned back into the house. She threw a
swift look over her shoulder, raised her veil, and stepped to the
doorway. She held out both her hands.

I took them in mine. What I did concerned only us two. "Good-by,
Margery," I said at last.

"No, no, not really good-by," she answered. "Just good-by for a little
while----" She faltered.

"Page," I prompted.

"My 'Mr. Page,'" she repeated, softly, and, at the sound of returning
footsteps, slipped from me into the dimness of the hall, and was gone.

THE GIFTS OF GOLD

Desire of joy--how keen, how keen it is!
(Oh, the young heart--the young heart in its Spring!)
There waits adventure on the road of bliss--
A challenge in each note the free birds fling;
The spur of pride to dare us climb and kiss--
Desire of joy--how keen, how keen it is!

Desire of tears--but this is sweet, most sweet!
(Oh, the young heart--the young heart in its Spring!)
That sits a little while at Sorrow's feet
And tastes of pain as some forbidden thing,
That draught where all things sweet and bitter meet--
Desire of tears--ah me, but it is sweet!

Desire of joy and tears--ah, gifts of gold!
(Oh, the young heart--the young heart in its Spring!)
Once only are these treasures in our hold,
Once only is the rapture and the s