cheek, and her downcast eyes were full of light.

He looked at Di. The inevitable book was on
her knee, but its leaves were uncut; the strong-
minded knob of hair still asserted its supremacy
aloft upon her head, and the triangular jacket still
adorned her shoulders in defiance of all fashions,
past, present, or to come; but the expression of her
brown countenance had grown softer, her tongue
had found a curb, and in her hand lay a card with
"Potts, Kettel & Co." inscribed thereon, which
she regarded with never a scornful word for the
Co."

He looked at Laura. She was before her easel
as of old; but the pale nun had given place to a
blooming girl, who sang at her work, which was
no prim Pallas, but a Clytie turning her human
face to meet the sun.

"John, what are you thinking of?"

He stirred as if Di's voice had disturbed his
fancy at some pleasant pastime, but answered with
his usual sincerity,--

"I was thinking of a certain dear old fairy tale
called 'Cinderella.'"

"Oh!" said Di; and her "Oh" was a most