more fervor, upon the mouth, but for her I had the feeling that I could not guard her, this dear blossom of purest whiteness, too jealously.  I would no more have permitted myself, during our betrothal, to give her a very ardent caress, the memory of which, however harmless it might seem to the majority of affianced people, might cause her a troubled thought, than I would have permitted a stranger to kiss my sister.  Her maiden shyness was a bloom which I did not wish to brush off.  I took her hand in my own as we turned to retrace our steps to the house, and stood looking down at her in the wonderful September moonlight.  She seemed a vestal virgin, in her long, clinging dress of white wool, with a scarf thrown about her head and throat.

Within, Kate had finished her selections from opera and bouffe, and out into the soft evening drifted her rich contralto in the yearning strains of the “Blumenlied.”

  “I long to lay in blessing
  My hands upon thy hair,
  Praying that God may preserve thee
  So pure, so bright, so fair!”

I bent over and touched my lips to Amy’s forehead reverently.  “God keep you, my snow-flower!” I whispered.  And then we went silently in together.

The next day was so fine that Mrs. Mershon decided to drive over to the neighboring town in the afternoon for some shopping, and Hilyard, needing some simple chemicals for an experiment, which he hoped to find there at the chemist’s, accompanied her.  Kate and Amy and I had intended to go to a friend’s for tennis, but at luncheon I received a telegram calling me to the city on urgent business.  We were only a half hour’s trip out, but I thought I might be detained until too late for dinner, so promising to return as early in the evening as possible, I hurried off.

On arriving in New York, I found the affair which had threatened to be a prolix one, only demanded a few minutes’ attention from me.  I strolled into the Club; there chanced to be no one there whom I cared to see; the city was hot and ill-smelling, and I decided I could not do better than surprise Amy by returning earlier than she expected, and accordingly I took the first train out, walking up from the station.

The little villa looked quite deserted as I approached.  I wondered if Amy and Kate had gone to the Waddells’ without me.  I went to the side door, and hearing voices in the library, I went softly into the back drawing-room, with the foolish, boyish thought that I would walk in suddenly and interrupt an exchange of confidences which I should pretend to have overheard.  I do not know what impelled me to play such an antiquated, worn-out trick; however, I was just advancing into the room through the wide-open but curtained doorway, when a chance sentence made me pause, struck as by a blow in the face.  Through an interstice, left by an ill-adjusted fold of the portiere, I had a glimpse of the room.  My betrothed, in one of her favorite