that. As she lingered a moment, while Henry looked at the book, his eye
fell upon a name on the title-page: "Angel Flower."

"Is that your name, Miss Flower?" he said.

"Yes; father wrote it there. My real name is Angelica; but they call me
Angel, for short," she answered, smiling.

"Are you surprised?" said Henry, suddenly blushing like a girl, as
though he had never ventured on such a small gallantry before.
"Angelica! How did you come to get such a beautiful name?"

"Father loves beautiful names, and his grandmother was called
Angelica."

"I wonder if I might call you Angelica?" presently ventured Henry, in a
low voice.

"Do you think you know me well enough?" said Angelica, with a little
gasp, which was really joy, in her breath.

Henry didn't answer; but their eyes met in a long, still look. In each
heart behind the stillness was a storm of indescribable sweetness. Henry
leaned forward, his face grown very pale, and impulsively took
Angelica's hand,--

"I think, after all, I'd rather call you Angel," he said.