older man’s face. He broke off in the midst of a sentence and stared at him.     

       “Don’t give me away until I tell you to, Ned,” he said, “but I don’t know but I am going to follow your example.”      

       “My example?”      

       “Yes, going to get married.”      

       The young man gasped. A look of surprise, of amusement, then of generous sympathy came over his face. He grasped Lawton’s hand.     

       “Who is she?”      

       “Oh, a woman I wanted more than anything in the world when I was about your age.”      

       “Then she isn’t young?”      

       “She is better than young.”      

       “Well,” agreed the young man, “being young and pretty is not everything.”      

       “Pretty!” said Harry Lawton, scornfully, “pretty! She is a great beauty.”      

       “And not young?”      

       “She is a great beauty, and better than young, because time has not touched her beauty, and you can see for yourself that it lasts.”      

       The young man laughed. “Oh, well,” he said, with a tender inflection, “I dare say that my Amy will look like that to me.”      

       “If she doesn’t you don’t love her,” said Lawton. “But my Eudora IS that.”      

       “That is a queer-sounding Greek name.”      

       “She is Greek, like her name. Such beauty never grows old. She stands on her pedestal, and time only looks at her to love her.”      

       “I thought you were a business man as hard as nails,” said the young man, wonderingly. Lawton laughed.     

       When Thursday came, Lawton, carefully dressed and carrying a long tissue-paper package, evidently of roses, approached the Yates house. It was late in the afternoon. There had been a warm day, and the trees were       

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