her mouth were the faint prints of many smiles.

"Rose," said Madame Bernard, suddenly, "you are very lovely to-night."

"I was thinking the same of you," responded the younger woman, flushing.
"Shall we organise ourselves into a mutual admiration society?"

"We might as well, I think. There seems to be nobody else."

A shadow crossed Rose's face and her beauty took on an appealing
wistfulness. She had been sheltered always and she hungered for Life as
the sheltered often do. Madame Bernard, for the thousandth time, looked
at her curiously. From the shapely foot that tapped restlessly on the
rug beneath her white lace gown, to the crown of dusky hair with red-
gold lights in it, Rose was made for love--and Madame wondered how she
had happened to miss it.

"Aunt Francesca," said Rose, with a whimsical sadness, "do you realise
that I'm forty to-day?"

"That's nothing," returned the other, serenely. "Everybody has been
forty, or will be, if they live."

"I haven't lived yet," Rose objected. "I've only been alive."

"'While there's life there's hope,'" quoted Madame lightly. "What do you
want, dear child? Battle, murder, and sudden death?"

"I don't know what I want."