of having
literally blown in on the November wind which was shaking the trees
outside. Her cheeks had been stung into a brilliant rose colour. Two
books were tucked under her arm.

"Why, Rob!" cried her younger brother. "What luck! What brought you
home?"

Rising from his chair Richard observed that Ted had risen also, and he
now heard Ted's voice presenting him to his sister with the ease of the
well-bred youngster.

From this moment Richard owed the boy a debt of gratitude. He had been
waiting impatiently for a fortnight for this presentation and had begun
to think it would never come.

Roberta Gray came forward to give the guest her hand with a ready
courtesy which Richard met with the explanation of his presence.

"I was asked to keep your brother company in the absence of the family.
I can't help being glad that you didn't come in time to forestall me."

"I'm sure Ted's hospitality might have covered us both," she said,
pulling off her gloves. He recognized the voice. At close range it was
even more delightful than he had remembered.

"I doubt it, since he tells me that when you're here he doesn't mind who
else is away."

"Did you say that, Teddy?" she asked, smiling at the boy. "Then you'll
surely give me lunch, though it isn't my day at home. I'm so hungry,
walking in this wind. But the air is glorious."

She went away to remove her hat and coat, and came back quickly, her
masses of black hair suggesting but not confirming the impression that
the wind had lately had its way with them. Her eyes scanned the table
eagerly like those of a hungry boy.

"Some of your scholars sick?" inquired Ted.

"Two--and one away. So I'm to have a whole beautiful afternoon, though I
may have to see them Wednesday to make up. I am a teacher in Miss
Copeland's private school," she explained to Richard as simply as one of
the young women he knew would have explained. "I have singing lessons of
Servensky."

This gave the young man food for thought, in which he indulged while
Miss Roberta Gray told Ted of an encounter she had had that morning with
a special friend of his own. This daughter of a distinguished man--of a
family not so rich as his own, but still of considerable wealth and
unquestionably high social position--was a teacher in a school for
girls; a most exclusive school, of course--he knew the one very
well--but still in a school and for a salary. To Richard the thing was
strange enough. She must surely do it