the way, Clara, now tell me truly, what do you think of Mr. Denver? Do you like him? Honestly now!"
"I like him very much indeed. I think that he is one of the most gentlemanly, modest, manly young men that I have ever known. So now, dear, have you nothing to tell me?" Clara smoothed down her sister's golden hair with a motherly gesture, and stooped her face to catch the expected confidence. She could wish nothing better than that Ida should be the wife of Harold Denver, and from the words which she had overheard as they left the lawn that evening, she could not doubt that there was some understanding between them.
But there came no confession from Ida. Only the same mischievous smile and amused gleam in her deep blue eyes.
"That grey foulard dress———" she began.
"Oh, you little tease! Come now, I will ask you what you have just asked me. Do you like Harold Denver?"
"Oh, he's a darling!"
"Ida!"
"Well, you asked me. That's what I think of him. And now, you dear old inquisitive, you will get nothing more out of me; so you must wait and not be too curious. I'm going off to see what papa is doing." She sprang to her feet, threw her arms round her sister's
