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 *hood. And while Fred chaffs you about being a country girl, he is really proud of you. He often talks to me: 'Why, mother,' he tells me, 'I never saw anything like it; as soon as she appeared she shone; a sudden brightness fills the place wherever she goes; a softened splendor comes around.' And dear, I am not blind, I see you are besieged by smiles and light whispered loves—you hold all hearts in that sweet thrall; you are the bright flame in which many moths burn."

"You are both very, very, kind—Fred and you"—Here she was interrupted by a maid entering with a card.

"Mr. Willard Frost."

"Ah, Cherokee, what did I tell you? He has even taken the liberty of calling at unconventional hours."

As Frost waited below he nervously moved about; there was a sort of sub-conscious discomfort, as of one whose clothes are a misfit. The least sound added to his uneasy feeling.

"Am I actually in love with her?" he asked, "or does her maidenly and becoming coyness excite my surfeited passion? Is it something that will burn off at a touch, like a lighted sedge-field," he reflected. "Would I marry her if I could? Well, what's the difference? The part I have undertaken