"He's worrying about those stupid business matters again," she
said, and the thought seemed to give much relief.

Business matters were masculine, and she was essentially feminine.
Her world was as far removed from finance as her laces from the
iron in which her husband dealt.

A little boy of four years of age and a little girl of six, whose
tiny form was draped in such gossamer-like fabrics that she seemed
more fairy-like than human, were pulling at her dress, eager to enter
the mirth-resounding parlors, but afraid to leave her sheltering
wing. Mrs. Jocelyn watched the scene from the doorway, where her
husband had stood, without his sigh. Her motherly heart sympathized
with Belle's abounding life and fun, and her maternal pride
was assured by the budding promise of a beauty which would shine
pre-eminent when the school-girl should become a belle in very
truth.

But her eyes rested on Mildred with wistful tenderness. Her own
experience enabled her to interpret her daughter's manner, and to
understand the ebb and flow of feeling whose cause, as yet, was
scarcely recognized by the young girl.

The geniality of Mrs. Jocelyn's smile might well assure Vinton
Arnold that she welcomed his presence at her daughter's side, and
yet, for some reason, the frank, cordial greeting in the lady's
eyes and manner made him sigh again. He evidently harbored a memory
or a thought that did not accord with the scene or the occasion.
Whatever it was it did not prevent him from enjoying to the utmost
the pleasure he ever found in the presence of Mildred. In contrast