The house-warming, as Wade chose to call his dinner-party, came off on Saturday night.  Wade had moved his bed back to the guest-room upstairs and the sitting-room had regained its former character.  In this room and in the parlor and dining-room bowls and vases of pink roses—­which had come from Boston on ice in great wooden boxes, and about which the village at large was already excitedly speculating—­stood in every available spot.  But if Eden Village found subject for comment in the extravagant shipment of roses, imagine its wonderment when it beheld, shortly after six o’clock, Doctor Crimmins parading magnificently up the street in swallow-tailed coat and white vest, a costume which Miss Cousins was certain he had not worn in twenty years!

Wade and his guests sat on the new side porch while awaiting dinner and Wade came in for a lot of praise for the improvements he had worked in his garden, praise which he promptly disclaimed in favor of Miss Mullett.

“Goodness only knows what I’d have done if it hadn’t been for her,” he laughed.  “I wanted to plant American Beauty roses and maiden-hair fern all over the place.  I even think I had some notion of growing four-dollar orchids on the pear trees.  The idea of putting in things that would really grow was entirely hers.”

“I like the idea of planting the old-fashioned, hardy things,” said the Doctor.  “They’re the best, after all.  Asters and foxgloves and deutzia and snowballs and all the rest of them.”

“And phlox,” said Wade.  “They told us we were planting too late, but the phlox has buds on it already.  Come and see it.”

So they trooped down the new gray steps and strolled around the garden, Wade exhibiting proudly and miscalling everything, and Miss Mullett gently correcting him.

Their travels took them around the house and finally to the gate in the hedge, over the arch of which Miss Mullett was coaxing climbing roses.  When they turned back Eve and the Doctor walked ahead.

“Eve told me once such a quaint thing about that gate,” said Miss Mullett.  “It seems that when she was a little girl and used to play in the garden over there, she imagined all sorts of queer things, as children will.  And one of them was that some day a beautiful prince would come through the gate in the hedge and fall on his knee and ask her to marry him.  Such a quaint idea for a child to have, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” answered Wade thoughtfully.  There was silence for a moment, and then he glanced down and met Miss Mullett’s gaze.  He laughed ruefully.

“Do you think I look much like a prince?” he asked.

“Do looks matter,” she said, gently, “if you are the prince?”

“Perhaps not, but—­I’m afraid I’m not.”

Thereupon Miss Mullett did a most unmaidenly thing.  She found Wade’s hand and pressed it with her cool, slim fingers.

“If I were a prince,” she replied, “I’d be afraid of nothing.”