ONE GIRL'S IDEAL OF LIFE


It was an attractive picture that Martin Jocelyn looked upon
through the open doorway of his parlor. His lively daughter Belle
had invited half a score of her schoolmates to spend the evening,
and a few privileged brothers had been permitted to come also. The
young people were naturally selecting those dances which had some
of the characteristics of a romp, for they were at an age when
motion means enjoyment.

Miss Belle, eager and mettlesome, stood waiting for music that
could scarcely be lighter or more devoid of moral quality than her
own immature heart. Life, at that time, had for her but one great
desideratum--fun; and with her especial favorites about her, with
a careful selection of "nice brothers," canvassed with many pros
and cons over neglected French exercises, she had the promise
of plenty of it for a long evening, and her dark eyes glowed and
cheeks flamed at the prospect. Impatiently tapping the floor with
her foot, she looked toward her sister, who was seated at the piano.

Mildred Jocelyn knew that all were waiting for her; she instinctively
felt the impatience she did not see, and yet could not resist
listening to some honeyed nonsense that her "friend" was saying.
Ostensibly, Vinton Arnold was at her side to turn the leaves of
the music, but in reality to feast his eyes on beauty which daily
bound him in stronger chains of fascination. Her head drooped under
his words, but only as the flowers bend under the dew and rain that
give them life. His passing compliment was a trifle, but it seemed
like the delicate touch to which the subtle electric current