At last, turning full upon him, her eyes blue and shining, she said in a low tone, "O Mr.King, it is too--too--beautiful! It is so beautiful it--it--hurts.

She seems to, to"-- she searched for the word--"to belong to the roses, doesn't she?
It makes you feel just as the rose garden makes you feel." He laughed with pleasure, "What a child of nature you are! You have forgotten that it is a portrait of yourself, haven't you ?" She laughed with him.

"I _had_ forgotten.

It's so lovely!" Then she added wistfully, "Am I--am I really like that ?--just a little ?" "No," he answered.

"But that is just a little, a very little, like you." She looked at him half doubtfully--sincerely unmindful of the compliment, in her consideration of its truth.