“Indeed, it was most fortunate, and I am sorry that the chariot was spoiled, for it would have been a pleasant reminder of our lily queen’s grandeur as long as you cared to preserve it,” Katherine returned.

“But that was nothing compared with your dress!” was the regretful rejoinder.  “Uncle Phil said the skirt was ruined; but papa says you shall have another every bit as nice—­”

“Indeed, you shall, Miss Minturn,” here interposed Prof.  Seabrook, coming from the adjoining room, where he had overheard the above conversation.

He cordially extended his hand as he spoke, while his tone and manner were more affable than they had been since the day of her admission to the school.

“We owe you a great deal,” he continued, “both for the pleasure you were instrumental in giving our little girl last Friday night, and for your presence of mind which saved—­no one can estimate how much—­possibly a dangerous panic, the destruction of property and much suffering.”

He had been quietly inspecting the hand he held, while he was speaking, and was greatly surprised to find only a slight discoloration where he had expected to see unsightly sores or scars, and, while he did not wish to undervalue her heroism and self-abnegation, he began to think that his brother-in-law had greatly over-estimated the injuries which she had sustained.

“I am afraid you are giving me far more credit than is my due,” Katherine replied, releasing her hand and flushing as she read something of what was passing in his mind.  “I simply did what first came to my thought and—­”

“And exactly the right thing it was to do,” the man smilingly interposed.

“And Dr. Stanley did the rest,” she persisted, finishing what had been in her mind to say.

“Well, ‘all’s well that ends well,’ and we are very grateful that things are as they are,” said the professor, earnestly, adding: 

“You must allow me to repair whatever damage has teen done, as far as money can do that.  It pains me to know that you were burned, but I am thankful to see that you did not suffer as severely as I was led to infer.”  He glanced at her hand again as he concluded.

“I suffered more on Dorothy’s account, I think, than in any other way,” the girl quietly replied.

“Why! were you burned, Miss Minturn?” Dorothy exclaimed, catching her breath sharply.

“You would hardly know it now,” she said, showing her hand, for she saw she could no longer conceal the fact from her.

Dorothy took it, looked it over, then touched her lips lovingly to it.

“I’m very sorry,” she said, “but it couldn’t have been so awful bad to get well so quickly, could it?”

“It is all passed now, dearie, and we are glad that no one’s good time was spoiled, aren’t we?” Katherine observed and hastening to change the subject.

“Indeed, we are.  It was such a happy time!” sighed Dorrie, in a tone of supreme content.  “I’ve dreamed and dreamed of it.  I wake in the morning thinking of it, and mamma and I talk and talk about it.”