The young girl started, and flushed slightly.  “We were talking about astronomy,” she said brusquely.

“Well, I should think so, for the effects in your appearance are heavenly.  If he could have seen you as you have appeared for the last ten minutes, he would be more desperately in love than ever.  Oh, Millie, you are so pretty that I am half in love with you myself.”

“Nonsense! you are a giddy child.  Tell me about your own favorites, and which of them you like best.”

“I like them all best.  Do you think I’m going to be such a little goose as to tie myself down to one?  These are but the advance guard of scores.  Still I shall always like these ones best because they are kind to me now while I’m only a ‘shop-lady,’”

“You mustn’t flirt, Belle.”

“I’m not flirting—­only having a good time, and they know it.  I’m not a bit sentimental—­only jolly, you know.  When the right time comes, and I’ve had my fun, I’m going to take my pick of the best.”

“Well, that’s sensible.  Belle, darling, are not Roger’s friends better than those underhanded fellows who could not look mamma in the eyes?”

“Oh, Millie,” said the impulsive girl with a rush of tears, “don’t speak of those horrid days.  I was an ignorant, reckless fool—­I was almost beside myself with despair and unhappiness; I could kiss Roger’s hands from gratitude.  Look here, Millie, if you don’t marry him I will, for there’s no one that can compare with him.”

“Come, now, don’t make me jealous.”

“I wish I could.  I’ve a great mind to flirt with him a little, just to wake up your old stupid heart.  Still I think you are coming on very well.  Oh, Millie, how I could dance at your wedding!  Solid as I am, my feet would scarcely touch the floor.”

Mildred laughed, and said softly, “It would be a pity to deny you so much pleasure, Belle.”  Then she added resolutely, “No more talk about weddings, if you please.  For long, long years Roger must give his whole mind to his studies.  His relatives say that we shall hang helplessly upon him and spoil his life, but we’ll prove them mistaken, Belle.  I’d work my fingers off to give him the chance that he’ll make so much of, for I’m as proud of him as you are.”

“That’s the way to talk,” exulted Belle.  “I see how it’s all coming out.  He’ll stand up head, as I told you, and I told you, too, that he’d win you in spite of yourself.  Roger Atwood does all he undertakes—­it’s his way.”

“Well, we’ll see,” was the half-smiling, half-sighing answer; but sanguine Belle had no doubt concerning the future, and soon her long eyelashes drooped over her glowing cheeks in untroubled sleep.

“Oh, how good for us all is the sunlight of a little happiness and hope!” Mildred thought.  “Darling mamma is reviving, Belle is blossoming like a blush rose, and I—­well, thank God for Roger Atwood’s friendship.  May I soon be able to thank Him for his love.”