While in thy heart the winter
Is lying cold and bleak.

"But this shall change hereafter,
When years have done their part,
And on thy cheek the wintered
And summer in thy heart."

LATE the next afternoon a man and a girl were standing in the Olcott
reception hall. The lamps had not been lighted, but the blaze from
the back-log threw a cozy glow of comfort over the crimson curtains
and on the mass of bright-hued pillows in the window-seat.

Robert Redding, standing with his hat in his hand, would have been
gone long ago if the "Christmas Lady" had not worn her violet gown.
He said it always took him half an hour to say good-by when she wore
a rose in her hair, and a full hour when she had on the violet
dress.

"By Jove, stand there a minute just as you are! The fire-light
shining through your hair makes you look like a saint. Little Saint
Lucinda!" he said teasingly, as he tried to catch her hand. She put
it behind her for safe-keeping.

"Not a saint at all?" he went on, in mock surprise; "then an
iceberg--a nice, proper little iceberg."

Lucy Olcott looked up at him for a moment in silence; he was very
tall and straight, and his face retained much of its boyishness, in
spite of the firm, square jaw.