“Dr. Stanley.”

“U-m! just the thing to wear with that pink gauze to-night,” was the laconic suggestion.

“They would look pretty with it, wouldn’t they?” said Katherine, innocently.

“I reckon that was what they were meant for, or they would have come before and been handed in downstairs,” Miss Minot observed, with an audible chuckle.

“Nonsense, Sadie!”

“What’ll you wager on it?”

“How can one make a wager on what can’t be verified?”

“Oh”—­with an irrepressible giggle—­“I’ll take care of that part of it, if you’ll only bet.”

“What a perfect torment you can be, Sadie Minot, when you take a notion,” interposed Katherine, flushing, but with a laugh that rang out clearly and sweetly.  “But I must go and find mamma.  She will be wondering what has become of me,” and she turned abruptly away to get out of range of a pair of saucy, twinkling eyes.

She carefully sprinkled her buds, then covered them to keep them fresh, after which she went out to seek her parents, humming a bar of their farewell song on the way.  As the sound of her footsteps died away in the distance Sadie sank upon a chair and gave vent to a ringing peal of mirthful laughter.

“Moss rosebuds!” she panted.  “They will look ‘pretty’ with her dress!  Oh, innocence! thy name is Katherine.”

A few hours later the main building of the seminary was ablaze with light and resounding with music, happy voices and laughter, together with the tripping of many feet in the merry dance.

Bright and attractive maidens, in lovely evening dresses of many hues, flitting hither and thither with their attendants in more conventional attire; parents and guardians, gathered in social groups, or from advantageous positions, watching with smiling content the brilliant scene; lavish and beautiful floral decorations lending a perfumed atmosphere and artistic effect to the whole, all made a charming and spirited picture which Prof.  Seabrook dearly loved to gaze upon, and to which he always looked eagerly forward at the close of every school year; albeit his enjoyment was somewhat tempered with sadness in view of the final farewells that must be said to his senior class on the morrow.

To-night, as he mingled with his guests, everywhere showing himself the thoughtful host and courteous gentleman, his glance fell, several times, upon a graceful, rose-draped figure wearing a spray of white moss rosebuds on her corsage.

He also observed, as she moved in rhythmic sway to the inspiring music, that she was supported by the strong arm of his distingue-looking brother-in-law, who seemed, he thought, to be paying more homage than usual to the Terpsichorean Muse, and one particular lady.

“Well, what do you think of it, Will?” whispered his wife, who happened to be near him once as the couple went circling by.

“What do I think of what, Emelie?” he queried, evasively.