she demanded, with unconcealed, almost terrified suspicion in her
tones.

"Because," he said, looking straight into her eyes, "I had a peculiar
dream last night, in which you wore a dress exactly like this. It is
rather a remarkable coincidence that you should put it on to-night."

"Harold!" she cried, springing forward and catching his arm
convulsively in both her hands, "what has happened? What is it? And
how can you talk so calmly when to me it seems--"

He put his arm around her. "Seems what?" he said, soothingly. "Did
_you_ have a dream, too?"

"Yes," she said, her face turning a shade paler, "I had a dream."

"And in it you wore this dress?"

"Yes."

"Tell me your dream."

"No!" she exclaimed, "I cannot."

Dartmouth put his hand under her chin and pushed her head back
against his shoulder, upturning her face. "You must tell me," he said,
quietly; "every word of it! I am not asking you out of curiosity, but
because the dream I had was too remarkable to be without meaning. I
cannot reach that meaning unassisted; but with your help I believe I
can. So tell me at once."