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Show 188 1tb< Signal GlU:> llose ant> Sll1>er "Don't bother," he answered, kindly. "The boy mustn't know. You always plan everything for me-where shall I live now I" She leaned forward, her blue eyes shining. "Oh, Richard," she breathed, "if you only would-if you could-come to Rose and me! We'dbesoglad!" There was no mistaking her sincerity, 'S.nd the Colonel's fine old face illumined with pleasure. Merely to be wanted, anywhere, brings a certain satisfaction. "I 'II come," he returned, promptly. "How good you are! How good you've always been ! I often wonder what I should ever have done without you." He turned away and, lightly as a passing cloud, a shadow crossed his face. Madame saw how hard it would be to part from his son, and, only in lesser degree, his old home. "Richard," she said, "a ship was sinking once in a fog, miles out of its course. The captain ordered the band to play and all the officers put on their dress uniforms. Another ship, also drifting, signalled in answer to the music and all were saved." The Colonel rose and offered his hand in farewell. "Thank you, Francesca," he answered, deeply moved. "I put on my white ~loves the day you came to tell me. I thank you now for the signal-and for saving me." She watched him as he went down the road, 'lllllblte Glo1>es tall, erect, and soldierly, in spite of his threescore and ten. "Three of us," she said to herself, "all in white gloves." The metaphor appealed to her strongly. She did not go in until Isabel appeared in the doorway, list in hand, and prettily perplexed over the problem of clothes. Madame slipped it into the chatelaine bag that hung from her belt. 11We 'II go over it with Rose," she said. "She knows more about clothes than I do." "Have you told Cousin Rose?" "No,'' answered Madame, avoiding the girl's eyes. "It's your place to tell her-not mine." When Rose came down to dinner that night, she was gorgeously attired in her gown of oldgold satin, adorned with gold lace. The last yellow roses of the garden were twined in her dark hair, and the rouge-stick, that faithful friend of unhappy woman, had given a little needed colour to her cheeks and lips, for the first time in her life. "Cousin Rose," began Isabel, a little abashed by the older woman's magnificence, "I 'm engaged-to Allison. "Really?" cried Rose, with well-assumed astonishment. "Corne here and let me kiss the bride-to-be. You must make him very happy," she said, then added, softly: "I pray that you may." "Everybody seems to think of him and not of me," Isabel returned, a little fretfully. !lllln 'DJlbltc ~· |