decked out in filmy clouds and vapours and mists. Oh! come now--" The
strange eyes were filling--but not overflowing!

"I was only joking. Forgive me. Why--"

The wretched fez fell from the soft hair--the bedraggled robe from the
rigid shoulders--and there, garbed in a rough home-spun gown, a little
plaid shawl and a checked apron, stood--

"It's the no-count," thought Truedale. Aloud he said, "Nella-Rose!"

With the dropping of the disguise years and dignity were added to the
girl and Truedale, who was always at his worst in the presence of
strange young women, gazed dazedly at the one before him now.

"Perhaps"--he began awkwardly--"you'll sit down. Please do!" He drew a
chair toward her. Nella-Rose sank into it and leaned her bowed head upon
her arms, which she folded on the table. Her shoulders rose and fell
convulsively, and Truedale, looking at her, became hopelessly wretched.

"I'm a beast and nothing less!" he admitted by way of apology and
excuse. "I--I wish you _could_ forgive me."

Then slowly the head was raised and to Truedale's further consternation
he saw that mirth, not anguish, had caused the shaking of those
deceiving little shoulders.

"Oh! I see--you are laughing!" He tried to be indignant.

"Yes."