the eyes.

"I had a letter from Ben this morning. His lung has been troubling
him; that is why he hasn't been over."

"Did you--has it--is it--?" rather lamely replied the girl.

He had written Damaris a perfunctory note of welcome to the Land of the
Pharaohs; then, a week later, had come over to dine. He had ached to
take his beautiful little chum up in his arms and shake her for her
haughtiness and by sheer strength of arms and will force her to say
"yes" to the question which it took him all his strength not to ask.

Since childhood he had been her slave, her door-mat, and the butt of
her various moods, feeling infinitely well rewarded by a careless smile
or word; so that he found it difficult, in fact well-nigh impossible,
to act up to her grace's plans and suddenly transpose himself into the
strong, silent man.

The girl, spoilt and accustomed to slavish devotion and used to his
worship, felt incensed, then hurt, and finally perplexed, and, to hide
it all, retired therewith into a shell of icy reserve.

He had adored her openly, and now, seemingly, looked upon her as just
one of the crowd of women in the hotel; she had taken his adoration for
granted and as a right, to waken one morning to find the gem she had
tossed in amongst the rubbish of her little experiences, gone!

Is there a greater mistake in the world than that of looking upon love
as an ordinary possession, instead of as a rare jewel?