"My poor boy!" the kind voice soothed him. "I guess that's the worst pain of all. I knew there was something
hurting you, but I didn't know 'twas as hard a hurt as this. But 'twill come right. I feel it will—if she's really the right girl."
"She's the only girl!" exclaimed Peter. "You'd love her, and she'd adore you."
"Tell me just what she looks like," commanded mother, shutting her eyes to see the picture better.
Peter excelled himself in his description of Winifred Child. "Nobody ever even dreamed of another girl who looked or talked or acted a bit like her," he raved. "She's so original!"
"Why, but that's just what somebody did!" mother cried, throwing off the cloak of her placidity. "Lady Eileen."
"Lady Eileen did what?"
"Dreamed about such a girl. It must have been a real interesting dream, because she couldn't get it out of her head and told me all about it. She saw a tall, dark girl, with wonderful eyes and a fascinating mouth and graceful sort of ways like you've been telling me about. Hearing Lady Eileen talk was almost like seeing a photograph. In the dream you were in love with the girl—English she was, too, like the real one—and ransacking New York for her, while all the time she—"
"Yes—yes, dear! All the time she––"
"Lady Eileen said particularly I was to tell you about her dream and let you know she wanted you to hear it, because it seemed kind of dramatic and made her almost superstitious, it was so real every way. But she made me promise I wouldn't say a word unless you spoke first about such a girl as she dreamed of—and told me you loved