he had come more clearly to an understanding of the girl; her
cheerfulness, her unselfishness, and, above all, the sweet,
beautiful philosophy of life that must lie back, to render her so
uncomplainingly the slave of the self-willed woman, yet without the
indifferent cynicism of Gerald, the sullen, yet real, partisanship
of Kendrick, or the general's week-kneed acquiescence.

The next morning he succeeded in making an arrangement by letter for
an excursion to the newly projected Central Park. Promptly at two
o'clock he was at the Bishops' house. To his inquiry the butler
said that Mrs. Bishop had recovered from her indisposition, and that
Miss Bishop would be down immediately. Orde had not long to wait
for her. The SWISH, PAT-PAT of her joyous descent of the stairs
brought him to his feet. She swept aside the portieres, and stood
between their folds, bidding him welcome.

"I'm so sorry about last night," said she, "but poor mother does
depend on me so at such times. Isn't it a gorgeous day to walk? It
won't be much like OUR woods, will it? But it will be something.
OH, I'm so glad to get out!"

She was in one of her elfish moods, the languid grace of her sleepy-
eyed moments forgotten. With a little cry of rapture she ran to the
piano, and dashed into a gay, tinkling air with brilliancy and
abandon. Her head, surmounted by a perky, high-peaked, narrow-
brimmed hat, with a flaming red bird in front, glorified by the
braid and "waterfall" of that day, bent forward and turned to flash
an appeal for sympathy toward Orde.

"There, I feel more able to stay on earth!" she cried, springing to