favorite children. I had reached the end of the long lane.

As I left the restaurant I decided to acquaint Phyllis with my good
luck and also my desire that she should share of it. I turned into a
florist's and had a dozen roses sent up to her. They were American
Beauties. I could afford it now.


I found Phyllis thrumming on the piano. She was singing in a low voice
the aria from "Lucia." I stood on the threshold of the drawing-room
and waited till she had done. I believed her to be unaware of my
presence. She was what we poets call a "dream of loveliness," a
tangible dream. Her neck and shoulders were like satin, and the head
above them reminded me of Sappho's which we see in marble. From where
I stood I could catch a glimpse of the profile, the nose and firm chin,
the exquisite mouth, to kiss which I would gladly have given up any
number of fortunes. The cheek had that delicate curve of a rose leaf,
and when the warm blood surged into it there was a color as matchless
as that of a jack-rose. Ah, but I loved her. Suddenly the music
ceased.

"There is a mirror over the piano, Jack," she said, without turning her
head.

So I crossed the room and sat down in the chair nearest her. I vaguely
wondered if, at the distance, she had seen the love in my eyes when I
thought myself unobserved.

"I thank you for those lovely roses," she said, smiling and permitting
me to press her hand.