“Star of Eve” from Tannhäuser and came over to him.
“Why are you so sad to-night, when it is my birthday?” she asked plaintively.
“Am I slow?” he replied. “I am sorry.”
“What is the matter?” she said, sinking onto the small sofa near to him.
“Nothing!” he replied—“You are looking very beautiful.”
“There, I wanted you to say that! You ought to be quite gay, you know, when I am so smart to-night.”
“Nay,” he said, “I know I ought. But the to-morrow seems to have fallen in love with me. I can’t get out of its lean arms.”
“Why!” she said. “To-morrow’s arms are not lean. They are white, like mine.” She lifted her arms and looked at them, smiling.
“How do you know?” he asked, pertinently.
“Oh, of course, they are,” was her light answer.
He laughed, brief and sceptical.
“No!” he said. “It came when the children kissed us.”
“What?” she asked.
“These lean arms of to-morrow’s round me, and the white round you,” he replied, smiling whimsically. She reached out and clasped his hand.
“You foolish boy,” she said.
He laughed painfully, not able to look at her.
“You know,” he said, and his voice was low and difficult. “I have needed you for a light. You will soon be the only light again.”
“Who is the other?” she asked.
“My little girl!” he answered. Then he con-
