along the upper hall.
Suddenly he heard a light footstep behind him, and then his name called
in a familiar voice that drew the blood quickly to his heart. He turned,
and she stood before him.

But how transformed! If I have hesitated to describe the hollow-eyed
cripple, the quaintly-dressed artisan's wife, a few pages ago, what
shall I do with this graceful, shapely, elegantly-attired gentlewoman
into whom she has been merged within these two months? In good faith she
was very pretty. You and I, my dear madam, would have been quick to
see that those charming dimples were misplaced for true beauty, and too
fixed in their quality for honest mirthfulness; that the delicate lines
around these aquiline nostrils were cruel and selfish; that the sweet
virginal surprise of these lovely eyes were as apt to be opened on
her plate as upon the gallant speeches of her dinner partner; that her
sympathetic color came and went more with her own spirits than yours.
But you and I are not in love with her, dear madam, and Mr. Oakhurst
is. And, even in the folds of her Parisian gown, I am afraid this poor
fellow saw the same subtle strokes of purity that he had seen in her
homespun robe. And then there was the delightful revelation that she
could walk, and that she had dear little feet of her own in the tiniest
slippers of her French shoemaker, with such preposterous blue bows, and
Chappell's own stamp--Rue de something or other, Paris--on the narrow
sole.

He ran toward her with a heightened color and outstretched hands. But
she whipped her own behind her, glanced rapidly up and down the long
hall, and stood looking at him with a half-audacious, half-mischievous
admiration, in utter contrast to her old reserve.

"I've a great mind not to shake hands with you at all. You passed me
just now on the piazza without speaking; and I ran after you, as I
suppose many another poor woman has done."

Mr. Oakhurst stammered that she was so changed.

"The more reason why you should know me. Who changed me? You. You have
re-created me. You found a helpless, crippled, sick, poverty-stricken
woman, with one dress to her back, and that her own make, and you gave
her life, health, strength, and fortune. You did; and you know it, sir.
How do you like your work?" She caught the side-seams of her gown in
either hand, and dropped him a playful courtesy. Then, with a sudden,
relenting gesture, she gave him both her hands.

Outrageous as this speech was,