Mrs. E.L. Roberts.

Alfred Ried twisted the delicate note-paper thoughtfully in his hand, a
look of perplexity on his face. He felt committed for labor; glad was
he, very, yet perplexed. He did not in the least know where to commence.
Well, neither had this little lady; yet she had accomplished more in her
one day's acquaintance than he after a lapse of weeks. Either she had
found opportunities, or had made them. There must be chances; he would
be sure to keep his eyes open after this.

In the handsome house on East Fifty-fifth Street, where Mr. Roberts had
settled his bride, after a somewhat extended business tour, involving
months of absence, matters were in train for a cosy evening in the
library. That was the name of the beautiful room where the husband
and wife sat down together; but it was quite unlike the conventional
library. Books there were in lavish abundance, but there were also
pictures and flowers and a singing-bird or two, and an utter absence of
that severe attention to business details which characterizes most rooms
so named. Little prettinesses, which Mr. Roberts smilingly admitted did
not belong to a library, were yet established there, with an air of having
come to stay. "We will call it the library for convenience," the master
of the house said, "and then we will put into it whatever we please. It
shall be a conservatory, and a sewing-room and a lounging-room and
anything else that you and I choose to make it." And Mrs. Roberts
gleefully assented, and gave free rein to her pretty tastes. Flossy
Shipley had been wont to be much trammelled with the ways in
which "they" did everything; but Mrs. Evan Roberts was learning that,
in unimportant matters at least, they had a right to be a law unto
themselves. Perhaps it helped her, to be aware that a large class of