Letter I Found At My Office. There--It Is Dispatched; I'll Drop It Into

the post-bag outside the door. And now to our stealthy tea, my dear."

"Just turn the key in the door, Tom, will you? For, if Pauline, who has the nostrils of a hound, gets the fragrant aroma, she and the whole company will be in on us before you know where you are."

"Which the heavens forbid! There is the sound of as many voices--"

"The sound of seventeen voices--the whole company. They came early this morning, and are remaining to dance to-night. They were here the night before last too; they are here always."

"You have not had opportunity to miss me much then. Robert kept you alive, as I thought he would."

"Oh, yes, he did his best, and the Royal Nutshire helped him! He has four bosom-friends of his own age who are rather heavy in hand, and who belong to the leech tribe. When once they get into the house, you can't get them out. I'm rather sick of 'our fellows,' Tom, 'our training,' 'our mess,' 'our uniform,' et cætera. I wonder, if I went in and told them you had just returned from America very bad with yellow-fever, would it rout them before dinner, do you think?"

"I'm afraid not. The quarantine laws would not fit with my appearance here. That's Lottie's voice in the hall now."

"Yes; she has been out rat-hunting with Burton Major and Wilkins Minor--two school friends who are spending the day with Hal."

"By-the-bye, I was nearly forgetting her commission. In fact, at the eleventh hour, even at the Liverpool station, I purchased the 'Turkish delight,' et cætera. Here it is. I had to put it in with my letters. Pauline's gloves I nearly made a mess of too. Couldn't remember whether it was six-and-a-quarter or six-and-three-quarters. However, I chose the six and a quarter. Right, eh? That's fortunate. You gave me no message, Addie," he says hesitatingly, taking a case from the breast of his overcoat; "and so--so I was thrown on my own resources to choose you a souvenir of my travels. I hope you will like it; it's Yankee manufacture."

She opens the case, and is unable to repress a cry of keen admiration when her eyes rest on a band of massive gold incrusted with diamonds, her initials sparkling in the center--a bracelet which, to her dazzled eyes, might grace the wrist of a Rothschild.

She looks at it for a moment in silence, and then pushes it back to him sullenly.

"No; I do not like it. Why do you bring me these things? You know I hate jewelry of all kinds; I have told you so often enough."

He takes the ornament from her, closes the case, and pushes it aside, saying quietly:

"I am unfortunate in my selection, after all. I do not ask you to accept the bracelet if you do not like it; only I think you--"

"You are angry with me?"

"No, not exactly angry, but I am a little hurt, I think. I wonder if you received any other birthday-gift quite as ungraciously as you did mine to-day, Adelaide?"

"Any other birthday-gift?" she repeats quickly, jumping to her feet, her face flushing suddenly. "Did you mean that bracelet as a birthday-gift? Tell me--tell me--quick!"

"It matters little what I meant it for now."

"You did then, you did?" she cries impetuously, stammering a little with emotion. "Who--who told you this was my birthday? How did you find out? When did you remember? You--you did not even know my name this time last year. How--how did you know this was my birthday?"

He stares at her in unspeakable surprise for a moment, and then says:

"My dear girl, what is the matter--what has excited you so? Is not this your twenty-first birthday? Yes? What mystery surrounds it? Why do you think it strange I should be aware of the fact?"

"I will tell you," she says hotly, "I will tell you. It startles--it surprises me, because you--you are the only person in the world who has remembered the fact--you, who, as I say, did not know my name was 'Addie' this time last year. I--I was crying here twenty minutes ago because every one had forgotten me for the first time in twenty years; my brothers, my sisters, my old nurse, who always met me on my birthday morning with warm kisses, glad wishes, even little worthless presents manufactured in stealth, did not give me one kind word this year--not one."

"My dear child, why should you mind that? It was only through inadvertence; they were so occupied with these theatricals and other things--"

"I know--I know the omission was not willful; why should it be? But it pained me all the same; it made me feel so sad and blank, that and--and other things, that I--I took it into my head I should never see another birthday unless some one broke the spell. I never thought of you. Give me back my present--quick! It is the loveliest, the sweetest thing I ever saw. I'd rather have a bracelet than anything you could give me. How did you guess my taste--how? How did you know I was dying for a bracelet just like this? Fasten it on my arm, Tom"--baring her pretty wrist eagerly--"so. How it sparkles! Now wish me a happy birthday, please."

He does so, smiling a little sadly.

"Not one, not one, Tom, but ten, twenty, thirty birthdays. Wish them to me with all your heart, your whole heart, Tom, for I feel I do not want to die for ever so long. I do not look like a person likely to die young, do I--do I?"--peering into his face with wistful pathos, her eyes swimming in unshed tears.

"Addie, what has put death into your thoughts to-day, you silly little girl? To-day of all days, when you are supposed to cast aside the fears and frivolities of girlhood and cut your wisdom-teeth."

"Then you do not think I look like a girl who would die young?" she persists, clinging to him.

"I do not know," he answers, banteringly, smoothing away the hair from her hot face. "If a blushing Hebe, for instance, be considered a candidate for the tomb, I may have a prospect of widowhood; but otherwise, Addie, otherwise, no--I cannot say you look or feel like a person who would die young"--touching the white shapely arm that rests on his knee.

She laughs complacently.

"It has not a ghostly feel, has it? Tom, do you think I have a pretty arm? One day I was picking a rose well above my head, and somebody told me I had."

"Who told you?"--sharply.

"Oh, a--well, how can I remember? Some one or other--it was long ago"--rather hurriedly. "What is your opinion? Have I a pretty arm?"

"I have not studied arms. It is a prettier arm than mine."

"You wretch! You will give diamonds and gold, but not one miserable little compliment. By the bye, I have not even thanked you for your diamonds or your good wishes."

"I do not want thanks. Spare me them."

"No, I must make some amends for my ungraciousness. I will not use many words--great gratitude, like great love, is sometimes dumb, I feel. May I thank you as graciously as I can, Tom--may I?"--raising her white arms to his neck, her parted lips to within a few inches of his half-averted face.

He tries to resist, to break the spell; he mutters to himself the words he heard her utter as an incantation, but they sound meaningless, impotent; he puts up his hand mechanically to remove her clasp, but only grasps hers to retain it more firmly there.

"May I?" she says again, her breath fanning his flushed face.

She sees his eyes deepening, smoldering, taking reluctant fire under her glance; she feels his chest heave with a restless struggling sigh, sees his proud head droop an inch nearer hers; in another second she knows victory will be hers; she will have Samson, shorn, at her feet again.

"Addie, Addie, open the door, open the door! What's the matter? The rehearsal's over, and we're going to dance! Open the door--quick!"

With a cry, half of wrath, half of relief, he frees himself and confronts the astonished company--unthanked.