As We Sweep Through The Deep

"Come in."

"Sir Digby has called, Miss Keane, and desires to see you for a moment. He is in the tartan boudoir."

"Tell him, Smith, that I am sorry I cannot leave my room--that I have a headache--that--stay, Smith, stay. Say that I shall be down in a few minutes."

"Yes, Miss Gertrude."

"It is best over," she murmured to herself as Smith left.

She touched the bell, and next minute she was seated before a tall mirror, at each side of which burned a star of candles, and her maid was dressing her hair.

"Mary," she said, as she rose and smoothed out the folds of her blue silk dress, "do I look my best?"

"Oh, Miss Keane, you look 'most like a fairy--the low-bodied blue, and the pink camellia in your hair. You are so beautiful that if I were a knight I should come for you with a chariot and six, and carry you away to my castle, and have a rea