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Mrs. \Vanchope will make a. better at- tempt, at getting me into my dress than she could, and will not perhaps leave such traces of the ntraiu she must nec- essarily put upon my skyâ€"blue laces. I have arranged my hair in its usual sim- ple fashion before my landlady comes up, rathered closely round my head into :1 Tool) of close nlaits at the,back, and curl- ng in a light natural fringe about my fqrehen‘d. And before the Deanes' (ar- Elag‘e comes for me I am ready, Handing efore the dingy old-faallinned glass and wondering what Olive will think of me and of my dress. ' “s'éhd M'r's. Wzifiéhobé'fip t6 'ineT‘VI 'say to the maid-of-ail-work. when she has dqrge hat she canflfpr my 5111ng fire. tells me no newsithey are all well at Yattendon, and have had very cold wea- ther. I lay down her note and take up the violets, thinking, as I nress the dewy fragrant purple blossoms in my lips, of the dear old trees at Woodlxay abqut, whose mossy root‘s ley grew. I take out my (11‘ ‘E from its flat paste- botu‘d box myself, unwilling to trust, it to the Lender mercies of Mary Anne's grimy fingers. There is a note from Aunt Rosa in the box, and_ another bunch of mx dear Woodhay _v101ets. Apnt Rosa “’l‘he Countâ€"he came in unexpectedly, wanting his dinner,” Mary Anne an- swers, kneeling down to put some life into the fire by means of a rapid fanning with her apron, “and I had to attend to him. He's just like that always walking: in when he’s least expat-ted. Gentlemen is a botherâ€"you never know when they’ll be_ infind when Athey won’t!" Mary Anne's voice wakes me out of what_was perhaps 'as much a dream as & reverle. “What o‘clock is it?" I ask, yawnmn‘. "It is half-past seven ma’am. 15 this your dress? I‘ll unpack it for you and lay it. on the bed.” a. prettier word. I do not, care sweethearts. I shall never be so foolish as to fall in love with any one. I think love is all nonsense. And most of the men who have wanted to marry me*I do not, mean poor Gus, of course; and, besides. he never asked me to marry him Hwere in love with Woodhay. and not with Allie Scott. If I had no money I might believe in loveâ€"a little: but. as it 18, 1 d5} notHbAelieveg in it at all. “Well, you astonished her. She never says muchiexcept to criticise, and she's bi‘ter enough thenâ€"but I could see that your singing of that delicious 'Serenade’ took her by surprise. And Herr Von Konig put on his 'Bpectacles to look at you. Allie, it’s the greatest pity in the world that you are a woman cf mm! pendent means! - You’d make a loz'tune on the stage!” “I wish Aunt Rosa could hear 56.11!" “I am sure Madame Cronhelm thinks yoq_uiean tofi sing in public.” It is Friday eveningâ€"the evening of the Rollesstons’ dance. I have heard and seen nothing: of “th( Count" since yesterday; nobody has men tloued Violets, nobody has accused me 0A piliermg. Whether he is in the house or not I know not, nor whether he has been in since I changed his dead camellia for my bunch of purple Woodhay violets yes- terday. I have been fully occupied be- tween my singing lessons and vis1ts to Dexter Square~so fully that such a ver- son as Mrs. Wauchope’s handsome ill-tem- pered ledger could certainly find no room in my thoughts. If I am thinking of any one now. as I lean back in my comfor- table hammock-chair, with my buckled shoes on the fender, it is of Gussie Deane. Poor Gus is devoted to meâ€"has been de- voted to me since we were children. And Gus is not a bad-looking fellow by any means. He is a. little fair man. and I do not like little fair men as a rule. But then he is a captain in the “Blues.” and I believe he really likes me. I do not care for him, of course; but it is fun to have a lover. I have had a good many loversâ€"‘30 at least they tell me~but I have up to this time walked “in maiden meditation, fancy free.” I am not a flirtâ€"my worst enemyâ€"if I have any ene‘ micsâ€"could not accuse me of flirting: It is an amusement which I both dislike and despise. And I do not flirt with Gus, though he is and has always been my "chum." He does not care to be called my chum now so much as he used. Olive says it .is because h_e thinks “sweetheart” “Shall Irrliéhitfi ihé" Eandles 'on your massingâ€"gable, maiam?" The back drawing-room I; my bednmm. I leave my easy chair reluctantlyâ€"it is a cold night even for March, sharp and frostyâ€"and follow Mary Anne into the inner room. where a newly-l‘khted fire burns in film; grate._ “Whiz didn‘tuyorlifllight that before ask, Sligering._ V Poppy Deane is a tall dark girl, with a- mnrblc-white complexion and black eyes, Olive is quite different~a linue plump thing with a, round face, a pink and white complexion, very fair hair in a wisp of curls over her forehead, and a, pair of very saucy. if not particularly handsome eyes. Today she wears a. “granny” bon- net lined with cardinal, and a enque-ttish dress of navy-blue and cardinal which shows off her prettin rounded figure. Also she wears spectacles, and so muoh because she finds them necessary to aid her sight as because she fancies they im- grove the appearance of what she con- sigflrs the worst, features in her face. “That, serenade of Gounod’s rings in my ears.” she says, as we reach the door of the house in Dexter Square. “You must sing it again for me, Allie, after we have criticised Poppy's plush gown.” “Do they know you have such a voice down at the Vicarage?” “I sing in church.” I say demurely. "I never knew such a queer girl as you are. Allie. If you were anybody else, you would beâ€"” “I wouldn’t be Allie Somers Scott,” I la‘pgh, shrugging my_sllo_1_x)ders. "I suppose not. And I like you just as you are. my dear. Have you seen the latest addition to Poppy’s troufineau? A Louis XVI. morningâ€"dress of ruby pluah with pink bowswwe must make her put it on after luncheon. It is most, becom- ing to Poppy, though, you know, I think it is a ridiculous style for the morning bâ€"fancy crimson plush with pink surah owe.” '7“Madi1me Cronflelm -i‘S at liberty to thiyk her oyvn thoughpa.” IA SEVERE TRIAL; are new and entirely different from ordinary preparations. They accomplish their purpose without disturbing the rest of the system, and are therefore the ideal laxative for the nursing mother, as they do noLaffect the ohfié. Compounded, like all NA-DRUâ€"CO préparatlons, by 6:59:11 «Musk: unsatisfactory we’ll gladly return your monfg, 7 , fr "‘ will National Drug and Chemical Company of Canada. Limited. A . .un 25¢. a Box. If w CHAPTER II.â€"(Cont’d) OR, THE MEMORY OF A BOY WITH ’ DARK EYES. mem‘. CHAPTER III v-‘ -34. umggISt 11.35 59*. )3} stocked them. send 250. and we r I avcont him. of course and walk away with him. wishinn‘ I had caiuzht big name‘. Ho is a rather Silent nartner. an- vwarim: to ho morn anxious to study me than 10 make himst agreeablé'. but what- ever hp (long say is clover and nmnfline. and so boyish with“ that it is absolutely refreshing after the "sooietv" talk to which I have brmn mm'mlled to listen for the last two hO'llY‘R. Ho, dances well, and knows how to trnko care of his mart- nor. Once, when somnhndy bv accident nuts his foot, on my dress. he turns round with a wicked flash of The eye which brings Mrs. Wauchone‘s illâ€"tempered 10d- cer into my mind. And once or twice I find him looking at me with an ex- pression which puzzles me a little. It is not admiration. nor criticism, nnr depreciation; but it 1E easier to say what it is not than what it iafirather a mix- ture of amusement and curiosity. as if try- ing to read some riddle in my face. When the waltz is over. he resigns me to G119. having just put, down his name opposite to the only disengaged dance on my nrogramme. a mazourke. I can make It is nearly half an hom later thn nomehndy introducr‘s me to a. nartnflr for the coming Walt". whose name I do not onfrh: "-T‘d. looking rouvd carelesfi- 1v. still tnlkimz to young: Rollonton. I find the unknown standing before me F'ith his eyes fixed ixlauiring‘ly on my ace. “I shall get Katie Rollesmn to tail me his name." Olive promises‘ as her heart- nor whirls her away; and Fred returning with my ioc. that and LhP wnltz nut ev- erything 01:25- Opt/79f my head. Ten minutes later. I am. in Olive's neighborhood again. this time waiting for Fred to bring me an ice. “There is the man I mean. OliVCABtandâ€" ing with his back to the wall~the tall dark one, talking to Colonel Rolleston.” “Yes; I observed him just now. I thought I knew everybody here; but I do not know who he is, nor does Captain Cath- cart. Isn‘t, he splendidly handsome. Al- lie? I don't think I ever saw such a handsome face in my life.” “There is the man I ing with his back to dark one, talking to “Yes; I observed him "He is very handsome.” I answer. glanc- ing at the grand-looking boyâ€"â€"for he scarcely seems more than that‘as he. stands talking: to Colonel Rolleston, and looking with splr‘ndid careless eves about the room. His face is dark, almost for- eign-looking, with a. straight nose, a slight dark mousfache. and :1 pair of the most beautiful. fiev’oe. tender, laughing, longâ€"lafikfd eves I havewever soon. “I know enough to know that. Here is Captain Cnthcavrt coming for me. And there is the ’Weit von-Dir.’ Oh. Allie, dorll’t.\vaste a note of that delicious wntz.” ‘Youuknow a lot about them!" says Gus, with a glance of brotherly scorn d_irtected downward at hm pretty little 51s er. 77"You’d better not make a donkey of you_r_se1f,” Gus 1jem_arks sgverely. “Oh, he doesn’t know I’m laughing at him! Men are so vain. they would think anything sooner than that you were mg}<ing_fun of them.”_ . What I see in the glass is a tall girl. in a long closely-liming cuirasse body of blue silk, ending in sashes of crepe cf the same color, and with a billowy blue skirt._ lying along the carpet, like the erismng waves of a summer seaâ€"a. girl with a pretty white neck and arms, Wltll hair neither fair nor dark. but. of_ a curious ash color, with eyes neither 71110 nor gray, but. a mixture of both. with a nose neither long nor short. a mouth neither large nor smallâ€"a face that _de- nies all laws of beauty, yet a face which Olive says she would never be tired of looking atvbub then Olive is my friend. and prejudiced; 1 do not set much store by her verdict. What I know myself to be is a girl with a swinging gait and a well poised head, whose outdoor life has developed muscle and straight limbs, and who, oddly enough. has a pair of eyes which have not looked out of the family face since my great-grandmother died, about, a‘hundregl years ago. in Mrs. Wauchope‘s depressing greenish- Linged mirror were another person. hear the Count‘s voice upstairs. talking to my landlady. My heart beats quickâ€" er for a moment. Can he have discover- ed the theft of the dead “button-hole”? But no; he goes in and shuts the (1001‘: Mrs. Wauchope comes down-stairs, passes my door, and I breathe freely again. gather up my gloves and fan, having nut my violets nestling near my heart. the only spot of darker color in my skyey dress, and walking- into the drawing- room, impelled by I know not what spirit of mischief or of folly, I sit, down at the piano and begin to sing: “Thy voice is hear." I do not think my venue is and- 1ble in the attics. I feel sure the words are not distinguishable; and. even if they were, who could tell what. silly freak led me to sing them“? “‘IWH; diévirof aék?“ Gus says. “Was thege anything rematkabje about. him?" “0h, quite as mvch!” “I am having such fun with him.” Olive says, glancing after her late partner. with a world nf mischief in her saucy dimpled face. “He is so sillyâ€"you’ve no idea what a donkey he makes of him- self!" “SHE"lizi‘vé’bééfi'iéhing her." says Gus. who has been my partner 1n the waltz which has just come to_ an oud._ "I know everybody here,” Olive re- marks, looking round the room. “If you see him again when I sun in your neigh- borhood point him out to me. and I am almost sure to know who he is. Allie. you look jolly; I hope you are enjoying youy’self as much as you seem to be do- ww‘flvfle I Bonsiderg myseffT_-gravely and dlsnassioggtely, as though my reflectiqu _"Why Allie my dear, you’re by far the {llcesb glrl in the room!" Thls remark IS .Olive's, of_ course.“ Don’t talk Hansevns‘e‘! Whomis that gentlgman who has just come into the hemhas moved on nowâ€"you can't see hlm wnzh the crowd!" Wwééfire'inai‘kably handsome. that was all.” room “Wfii'c'h” géh‘iiefiiixi’?""'01’ivé"asks. blink inghthrpugh her anctacles. "T‘bh!"vsays Gus. screwing his glass in‘ to _h1&} eye. We are standing near {L doorway. Gus 1nd Olive both turn their heady. "Word after word I seem to hear. Yet strange it seems 10 me That, though I listen to 'Lhy voice. Thy face I never see!” an .. "my? 'mxu’ahw‘ . u - Montreal. H \1 I breathe a great sigh of relief. He does not know thenâ€"4w does not connect me with the suspected party, whoever she may be. Perhaps he thinks it. was the younger Miss Pryce! Mary Anne told me they sometimes got fiewers up from the oqqrgtry. n V .- "She never meant you to know who left them tor you px‘ouamy.” "Probably." “You say you do not know her name?” "I did not know her name." "But you know it 110W?"- "Yes, I know it now.”- "And it 15â€"" He shakes his head. “I know you do not think so badly of me as to suppose I would answer that. quie§tion1f x~< . u... .~. “$1.”? Beal‘ceiy dései'véfi so much consid- erafimpn at xguy hangs," Ingay qhorQy'. nnwuulu “A: “V..- .... Q" “Why not?" he asks, with a. laughing look from under his long eyelashes. “It is scarcely a Iadys place to send violets to a gentleman, even if she were acmwainted with him.” ‘1'Y0u women are very hard upon each C. ~- “T-Tot so hard as you are, perhaps, "I « v A] "Now you think the an whn sent you those violet3-0r w ‘ “It was kindlof her. was it notâ€"t0 me ~not to the v1010ts?” “So much depends upon her motive,” I answer carelessly, wondering if he knows. “She could have had but one motive" "And that?” “Well,” he says, smiling, "I do not lxerlmiiK that I ought to tell you what I t in .” “You think so badly of her!" I ex- claim, the troublesome crimson rushing to ~r{Jy_ cheeks_ again: “va1 thoughtvbadly of her, should I won-r her vmmns?’ ‘InHoSdl" I observe quietly, Io‘oking pas}: him fl}: _thq dancers. “Certainly. There is noihing to for- give. You only spoke the truth when you said my violets were a little faded~~ thcg’ were badly treated, poor little flow- ersi “How was that?” I ask innocently. “Well,” he says deliberately, looking not at me now, but at the violets. “they were given to me by a. lady whose name I did not know. And, if I'had not for- tunately discovered them in time, they would have died for want of water in a dufitx glass-1‘ “Very fond," I answer glibly. “I think every one is fond of violets.” “I am,” he says, smilinga, little. “You must be, to wear so poor a bunch.” "Yuu would not call them poor, unless~â€"” "Unless what?" “No matter,” he returns, laughing. “But it is not very polite of you to dis- payagp my v_io}_ots_.” “It is not. indeed. I hope you will for- give me,” I say conscious that, unless he is on an entirely wrong scent, I have stupidly b_ ‘ - myself. A rush of foolish. guilty crimson dyes my cheeks which I would have- given worlds to have kept out of them” But it comes there, and it; stays, while my partner lowers his dark imperial head to look into my half-frightened, half-defiant eyes. We takegar few more iturnsgra‘fid “:55 come to a stand-still. Mr. Baxter seems to prefur to talk. ' “You are fond of violets?”â€"g1ancing at thp bougueg i_n my: dress: nothgng of the hierogiy hie scrawled in pencll: but I fancy the net. letter ox nu Initials looks like “B.” "Is that. your handsome man?” 611,3 asks, looking after him as he makes his way slowly through the crowd. 11131531162)? " “Don’t; you know it?” ' ‘Noq I could not catch It when he was introduced to me." ' “Small dances like this are much more enjoyable than gigantic crushes‘don’t you think 50?” "Yes." After the first glance at tho violets, 1 do not dare to look at them. Any one might wear violetsâ€"almost every one wears violets in March. But these are my Violets~1 know it intuitively, though why he should care to wear them, hav- ing no clew to the giver, puzzles me more than the name of the giver can have puzzled him. ‘You do not go out much?” "No," Lanswer, wondering if the re- mark is a question or an assertion. If it is an assertion, how does he know? “Shall we take another turn, or are you tired?” “I am not tired,” I say, thinking what an amusjng cqmpanion he must flyd me. “Why, that is Baxterâ€"Gerard Baxter. the painter, a clever fellow, but no ‘stay’ in him. If he had, he would have made a name for himself lcng ago.” "He looks a mere boy.” "‘He is one-and-twenty. He could paint plctures if he liked; but he won‘t take the trouble. Jack Rolleston knows him Well; but I've only met him once or twme. He has been away in Scotland for the last month or two, sketching. I dan’E po‘nsiflder _him 5}; yery_ h‘andsomefl I think Gus is a. little jealous, or I would think so if I had time to think of anything but my own astonishment. So this is Mrs. Wauchope’s lodger; this is the Count; this is the whilom glamer, the man who I christened Ginx’s Baby! It is strange, it is astonishing, it is not to be believed! The episode of the violets rush- es to my recollectionâ€"the words I_had so impudently sung this very evenin%- sung to him! It is well for me that 1e has no idea who I amâ€"would never dream of_identifying me with Mrs. Wauchope's spinster tenant “of a certain age." Aunt Rosa would have good reason to be ashamed of me if she knew what pranks 1 have been playingrvgood reason to say that she was right and I was wrong about the advisability of my coming up alone to Carleton Street! I shall never be so foolish again. I ought to have had more sense~a girl of very nearly oneâ€"and- twenty! It has been a lesson to me not to be carried away by the wild spirits which have been my bane always, the love of adventure which my good aunt has so often tried to nip in the bud! If I had known that Mrs. Wauchope’s "four'pair-back” was a person like this. I should not have dared to play what my laggard sense of propriety now stig- matizes as a silly practical joke, all the more silly because the victim would new er know who perpetrated it. Standing with Gus near the upper end of the room, I wish devoutly that I had not promised him a second dance. What if I should be foolish enough to betray my identity with Mrs. Wauehope’s “draw- ing-room”? What if he should ask me where I am staying in London? I shall be very cool to him, very reserved and distant, so that the idea of asking such a question shall never enter into his head. I am sorry now that I got in self into this scrape~1 should like to ave known my fellow-ledger who is so poor and so proud, But I have made any further acquaintance with him impos- sible, all through that wretched little bunch of violets! I avoid his look for the rest, of the evening, though more than once I am conscious that he is quietly studying me. Gus seems rather annoyed at my ab- sence of mind. Once or twice he has of- fered me a penny for thoughts which I certainly would not have communicated to him for a great, many poundxs.'ReLri- bution has not been long in followmg on the heels of my offense; but I hope the lesson will be a salutary one, and con- gratulahe myself that no worse mischief has: befallen me. “This has been a pleasant evening,” he says, when we have takqn a couple of circuits of the room. . ~ The dance I have begun to dread has come at lastâ€"the dance for which I am engaged to IIIIX Baxter. He comes up at the first, notes of the mazourke. “This is ours, I think?" I take his arm; and, as I take it, my heart PJiVGS a sudden bound of dismay. In thc| utton-hole of his sombre evening coat hb wears~a bunch of half-withered violets! , I “Yes,” I answer vaguely, my heart beat,- mgfl fax}. _“Yes," Ingmswer at once. "Do you know There lire tears of mortification in my eyes that I should have lowered myself by doing this foolish thing. How I hate those miserable violets, how I wish they had withered among their native ferns and mosses under the elms and. chest- nuts at Woodhay, before they tempted me to make such a. fool of myself! “You seem to take it to heart,” Mr. Baxter says, looking down at me. I sup- pose I look very cross and disagreeable. “I am sorry I told you anything about it. Do you care to try the mazourke again?” “Miss Scott,” he says, standing before me, and speaking grave]y_ enough now, “I must ask you to forglve me. I am ashamed of myself for having spoken of what I should have kept secretiof what I ought to have taken for just as much as it was worth. The violets were put.â€" where I found them#in jest, and I have worn them in‘earnest. I had no right to no it; and. If you will return them to gave them to youâ€"is scarcely worthy of your respect." "On the contrary,’ he answers quick- ly. “I know she did it out of- mere thoughtless kindness#;.erhaps mixed with a spice of mischief. And she thought I would never know itâ€"I am very sure she intended that I never should!" 1 “No thank you. I do not care to dance any more.” ‘ o A The Famous Kay0Lamp The Rayo Lamp is the best and most serviceable lamp you can find for any part of your home. 3,3.- lt is in use in millions of families. its strong white light has made it famous.» Ami it nevgt flickers2 _ . . u nu..u_- . n u- lnn-uua. . un- u .nvvv- "nu-v--. 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Campany, Limited Th” GILLETTE; “It costs me more than you think to» giye them up," he says, looking at. them wxstfully. “I think she would not refuse to let you keep them, whoever she is," I an- swer, laughing, with such a sudden chfinge of mood that it even puzzles my- se . “You think that!” he questions eagerlg. {They do not, look very valuable. 0‘ tley?” “Because they are a little V'vithered. I ‘Ynalpc ghcmfmorg _than you. know? a "And will you ask her," he says cag- ex‘ly. “to pardon my resumption in daring to pretqnd that misinterpreted her gracious glft?” He takes the bunch of withered violets from his button-hole tenderly in the: tips of his white-gloved fingers, and hands them to me. “Because they are a little withered. I value thcmfimore than you know.” "Take them then," I say carelessly, feel‘ lug that Gus is watching me, and that to keep Mr. Baxter’s violets would look more remarkable than merely to inhale their fragrance and hand them back again. “Take them, and pay her the further compliment of forgetting the friflly which put. them into your posses- non.” the owner, I will expiate my fault by glxing phem_ 113 to you} fl Matchless Christmas Gift Foan wan SAFETY RAZOR (To be continued.)