feet. The air is also influenced by her wooing, and is inclined to
be less severe than some hours earlier. Floods of light are
radiating King Square, giving even to its leafless trees a charm
of softness and effect. Pedestrians are going to and fro, while
several halt in the vicinity of the fountain to smoke their pipes
and discuss the news of the day. Presently a quick step is heard
approaching, and a trim little figure greets us, wrapped in a
fur-lined cloak, which, despite its ungainliness, cannot conceal
the grace of the wearer. As the maiden casts a passing glance we
are impressed by the sweet purity of her face--a face that will
stamp its image upon more than one heart, and leave memories that
cannot be forgotten.

Such was Marguerite Verne as we now attempt to introduce her in the
fond hope that others will see her as we do.

"Marguerite," exclaimed the child who had overtaken her as she
reached the pavement in front of the Royal Hotel, "Marguerite I am
tired running, I thought I never would get up to you. Golly, how you
do streak along!"

"Charlie Verne, you naughty boy," returned the girl as she
confronted her pet brother, his childish face aglow with the late
exercise, "I thought you were going to keep house with Winnie?'

"So I was," said the boy, eyeing his sister closely to watch the
effect of his speech, "but the Listers have arrived and I had to run
and tell you."

At this announcement Marguerite Verne could scarce repress a hearty