The Bacillus of Beauty

"Helen," I cried, "you are indeed the most beautiful being God ever created, and--last June you kissed me--"

"I didn't!"

"--Or I kissed you, which is the same thing--after the Commencement reception, by the maple trees, in front of the chapter house; and----"

"And thence in an east-southeasterly direction; with all the hereditaments and appurtenances--Oh, you funny Old Preciseness!"

"And now I'm going to----" The words were brave, but there was something in the pose and poise of her--the wonder of her beauty, the majesty-- perhaps the slightest withdrawal, the start of surprise--that awed me. Lamely enough the sentence ended: "Helen, kiss me!" I begged, hoarsely.

For just a fraction of a second she hesitated. Then the merriment of coquetry again sparkled in her smile.

"Ah, but I'm afraid--" she mocked.

Her eyes danced with mischief as she drew away from me.

"I'm afraid of a man who's going to be a great city lawyer. And then--oh, listen!"

Hurried, ostentatiously heavy footsteps sounded in the hall. They stopped at the door, and some one fumbled noisily at the knob. There was a stage cough, and Kitty plunged into the room, carefully unnoticing.

"Such an idea for--a hippopotamus comic," she panted; "a darling! Sent drawings down--messenger--rushed back to sketch--"

Here she paused to take breath.

"--lest I forget."

Snatching off her gloves she resumed her place at the big table, and began making wild strokes with a crayon on a great sheet of cardboard.

"I just had to do it," said she apologetically over her shoulder; "but--don't mind me."