with eyes and face glowing with a wonderful happiness.

Alas, Christine could think of mamma, and of morning calls and of what
people would say. But Franz overruled every scruple; he conquered mamma,
and laughed at society; and before Christine had decided which of her
costumes was most becoming, Franz was waiting at the door.

How they rattled up the avenue and through the park! How the green
branches waved in triumph, and how the birds sang and gossiped about
them! By the time they arrived at Mount St. Vincent they had forgotten
they were mortal. Then the rest in the shady gallery, and the subsidence
of love's exaltation into love's silent tender melancholy, were just as
blissful.

They came slowly home, speaking only in glances and monosyllables, but
just before they parted Franz said, "I have been waiting thirty years
for you, Christine; to-day my life has blossomed."

And though Christine did not make any audible answer, he thought her
blush sufficient; besides, she took the lilies from her throat and gave
them to him.

Such a dream of love is given only to the few whom the gods favor. Franz
must have stood high in their grace, for it lasted through many sweet
weeks and months for him. He followed the Strombergs to Newport, and
laid his whole life down at Christine's feet. There was no definite
engagement between them, but every one understood that would come as
surely as the end of the season.

Money matters and housekeeping must eventually intrude themselves, but