had! Oh, to be acceptable to one's neighbors, to feel oneself included in the world's kindliness, to be distinguished by some man's preference, even a man like the sailor, as she—strange, strange coincidence—as she now was distinguished, what warmth it kindled! It kindled, too, in Reba a new, shy self-confidence—a wistful desire to go more than half-way in smiles, greetings, and little acts of friendliness.
All day long the sound of her new friend's fervent voice recurred again and again to Reba, swooping down upon her at unaccountable moments and places, making her heart jump and sing. Crossing a crowded thoroughfare, dodging out of the path of a huge dray, passing into this class-room, out of that, the realization that somebody cared for her, more than he cared for anybody else in all the world, would pierce through Reba with a little sharp pleasing pain. It illumined the shopping-tour with Miss Park in the afternoon. The difference between her goddess and herself was not so great since the sailor's declaration. Reba, too, had been decorated; only once, true,—Miss Park was probably covered with badges—but once, once anyhow!
She rejoiced that her lover was so obviously unsuitable. There were so many fascinating paths she wanted to explore. She hadn't been to the theater once, yet, nor danced with a man; nor heard Grand Opera; nor ever dived off a raft into salt water. And the new gown that she had timidly confessed to Miss Park she wanted to be as fashionable as money could buy, (yes—blushing—she could afford to pay any amount, she guessed,) was still in process. The twenty-dollar hat, which Miss Park on a previous shopping-
