of them,
and finally went their various ways, serving only, as always, to make
clearer to her the fadeless memory of an absent man. For, to her, the
merest thought of him was more real, more warm and vivid, than all of
these, even while their eager eyes sought hers and their voices were
sounding in her ears.

Nina Grey came with Anne Randolph for a week-end; and then came Jeanne
Delauny, and Adele Millis. The memory of their visits lingered with
Athalie as long, perhaps, as the scent of roses hangs in a dim, still
room before the windows are open in the morning to the outer air.

The first of August a cicada droned from the hill-top woods and all
her garden became saturated with the homely and bewitching odour of
old-fashioned rockets.

On the grey wall nasturtiums blazed; long stretches of brilliant
portulaca edged the herbaceous borders; clusters of auratum lilies
hung in the transparent shadow of Cydonia and Spirea; and the first
great dahlias faced her in maroon splendour from the spiked thickets
along the wall.

Once or twice she went to town on shopping bent, and on one of these
occasions impulse took her to the apartment furnished for her so long
ago by Clive.

She had not meant to go in, merely intended to pass the house, speak
to Michael, perhaps, if indeed, he still presided over door and
elevator.

And there he was, outside the door on a chair, smoking his clay pipe
and surveying the hot and silent street, where not even a sparrow
stirred.

"Michael," she said, smiling.

For a moment he did not know her, then: "God's glory!" he said
huskily, getting to his feet--"is it the sweet face o' Miss
Greensleeve or the angel in her come back f'r to bless us all?"

She gave him her hand, and he held it and looked at her, earnestly,
wistfully; then, with the flashing change of his race, the grin broke
out:

"I'm that proud to be remembered by the likes o' you, Miss Athalie!
Are ye well, now?--an' happy? I thank God for that! I am
substantial--with my respects, ma'am, f'r the kind inquiry. And Hafiz?
Glory be, was there ever such a cat now? D'ye mind the day we tuk him
in a bashket?--an' the sufferin' yowls of the poor, dear creature.
Sure I'm that glad to hear he's well;--and manny mice to him, Miss
Athalie!"

Athalie laughed: "I suppose all your tenants are away in the country,"
she ventured.

"Barrin' wan or two, Miss. Ye know the young Master will suffer no one
in your own apartment."

"Is it st