admiring withal.

With a silken frou-frou she glides toward him, happy and radiant,
for she is in her airiest mood tonight.

"Is not my dress charming, Mr. Brown?" she cries with charming
naivete. "Does it not become me?"

"It is as lovely as its wearer," replied the other, with a
suppressed sigh.

"Pouf! What a simile! Who dares compare me with a paltry gown?"

Then, laughing at his discomfiture, the coquette, with slow
nonchalance, gathers up her long train.

"But I'll forgive you--this once," she concedes, "for there is
positively no one to take poor little me back to the ballroom."

And Lady Melissa slips her hand beneath Mr. Brown's arm, and glances
up at him with laughing, friendly eyes. . .




CHAPTER VI.

INFLUENCING ARTHUR