“What have we here, I wonder?” she remarked, as she passed it to her companion, together with a pair of scissors.

Katherine cut the string and lifted the cover, when a cry of delight broke from her.

“Dear Miss Reynolds! look!” she said, holding the box towards her for inspection.

It was filled with fragrant, long-stemmed Jack roses.

“How lovely!  Who can the donor be?” she said.  “Ah! there is a card, tucked almost out of sight, under the foliage.”

Katherine drew it forth, and a quick flush suffused her face as she read the name, “Phillip Harris Stanley.”  She passed it to her friend, then bent over her box of crimson beauties, as if to inhale their perfume, but really to hide the deepening color in her cheeks.

Presently a bell rang and Miss Reynolds was obliged to go to a class, thus leaving Katherine alone with her books and her flowers, and in a very happy frame of mind.

It was nearly noon before Mrs. Seabrook could steal away from her duties to go to see her; and when Katherine, in response to her knock, admitted her, she took the girl into her arms and kissed her with quivering lips, her eyes brimming with tears.

“My dear child, you know it is simply impossible for me to tell you all there is in my heart,” she began, but her voice broke and she had to stop to maintain her self-control.

“Do not try, dear Mrs. Seabrook,” said Katherine, as she returned her caress.  “I know it all, and you cannot be more thankful than I am that Dorothy escaped without even having her pleasure spoiled.”

“She talks of nothing but her ‘beautiful time’ and your ‘bravery,’” the mother resumed.  “She says that even though she cannot remember much of what happened, after you wrapped the portiere about the chair, she did hear you tell her ’not to be afraid, for she was God’s child and could not be harmed.’  She was not harmed in any way; she simply fainted from the shock, and seems even brighter to-day than she was yesterday.  But you suffered for her,” and Mrs. Seabrook’s tremulous lips failed her again, as she softly touched the girl’s bandaged hand.

“It is almost nothing now,” said Katherine, brightly.  “I am fast forgetting it myself, and want everybody else to.  Does Dorrie know?”

“No; my brother thought it best not to tell her.”

“I am glad; pray keep it from her if possible.”

“But is it not very sore?  Are you not suffering?”

“Not in the least, I assure you.  The pain lasted only a little while; I slept lovely and feel as good as new this morning.”

“But your beautiful dress was ruined, though that, of course, shall be replaced; and you lost your good time last night,” and the woman heaved a regretful sigh.

Katherine laughed out merrily.

“You will not let me ‘forget,’” she said.  “But there will be plenty of other ‘good times,’ and all else is as nothing in the balance, compared with Dorothy’s safety.”  Then, to change the subject, she inquired:  “Now, tell me, wasn’t that last tableau about as fine as anything could be?”