Her eyes filled with tenderness as she looked up to the good face
bending over her.

"Oh Mr. Rayne, is it you?" she said "I was wondering where you were, is
Nanette sleeping yet?"

"Yes, my dear," he answered, drawing a seat near hers, "and I've been
amused by the little window there for fifteen minutes, wondering what
there was existing capable of making any one strike such a thoughtful
attitude as yours."

"Why, Mr. Rayne, all I could condense into my poor little brain at once,
is not worth attracting your grand attention. But, I love to think: I
have so many little ethereal friends that flock around me when I sit
down to think, they are all my ideals, you know." She continued,
clasping her hands enthusiastically, "In that little world of thought,
where I drift so often in the day, there is none of that coldness nor
selfishness that characterizes your material world. We are all equal,
and we love one another so much! I don't know when it fascinated me
first, but it seems so natural to me now to steal away there from the
din of active life. But how is it _you_ always catch me just when I've
forgotten that there is any reality at all?"

"Because, I suppose," laughed Mr. Rayne "you are always in that state of
blissful forgetfulness, and if you don't mind yourself you'll fall into
a chronic state of dreaming, and then be no more to us than a veritable
somnambulist, now, you wouldn't like that, would you?"

"Oh, there is no fear of that, I am not spiritual enough yet to abandon