especial effort to write a good sermon."

"Oh," said Annie, "Aunt Harriet often hears you preach one which she
thinks very good."

Von Rosen bowed. Suddenly Annie's shyness, reserve, whatever it was,
seemed to overcloud her. The lovely red faded from her cheeks, the
light from her eyes. She lost her beauty in a great measure. She
bowed stiffly, saying: "I thank you very much, good evening," and
passed on, leaving the young man rather dazed, pleased and yet
distinctly annoyed, and annoyed in some inscrutable fashion at
himself.

Then he heard shouts of childish laughter, and a scamper of childish
feet, and Maida and Adelaide Edes rushed past, almost jostling him
from the sidewalk. Maida carried a letter, which her mother had
written, and dispatched to the last mail. And that letter was
destined to be of more importance to Von Rosen than he knew.

As for Annie Eustace, whose meeting with Von Rosen had, after her
first lapse into the unconsciousness of mirth, disturbed her, as the
meeting of the hero of a dream always disturbs a true maiden who has
not lost through many such meetings the thrill of them, she hurried
home trembling, and found everything just exactly as she knew it
would be.

There sat Aunt Harriet perfectly motionless behind the silver tea
service, and although the cosy was drawn over the teapot, the tea
seemed to be reproachfully drawing to that extent that Annie could
hear it. There sat Aunt Jane behind the cut glass bowl of preserved