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 not her only annoyances; occasionally she met Willard Frost.

She could not avoid treating him politely, her duty towards her husband forced her to do that; but she regarded him with veritable repugnance.

One evening, Robert had invited Marrion to dinner, and the latter had arrived before her husband. As he and Cherokee sat waiting, the maid entered with a package. It was an exquisite surprise. Though it was well into March, winter's keen blast had not so subdued the spring warmth as to keep it from bringing into quick bloom the pansies and jasmines.

"Robert knows how dearly I love flowers; he has sent them on to make me happier and announce his coming, the dear boy," she exclaimed with a touch of her old time impulsiveness. She kissed them, and questioned if they had brought back her lost faith—her girl's joy in loving.

"I wish I could keep them alive always," she sighed, sweetly.

While she began to arrange them in the vase, her maid, whose eyes appeared like leaves of dusty mullein, stared at her because she had kept her waiting.

"What shall I say to the messenger?"

"Tell him there is no answer."