It did not seem to resolve her perplexity.

"I don't recall the name," she answered. "I think he must remind me of
some one I have known."

"He is as black as Abel Newt," said Gabriel, looking with his clear eyes
at Hope Wayne.

"But much handsomer than Mr. Newt now is," she answered, with perfect
unconcern. "His eyes are softer; and, in fact," she said, smiling
pleasantly, "I am not surprised to see what a willing listener his
neighbor is. I wish I could recall him. I don't think that he resembles
Mr. Newt at all, except in complexion."

Arthur Merlin heard every word, and watched every movement, and marked
every expression of Hope Wayne's, at whose other hand he sat, during this
little remark. Gabriel said, in reply to it,

"The truth is, Miss Wayne, you have seen him before. The first time you
ever saw me he was with me."

The clear eyes of the young man were turned full upon her again.

"Oh, yes, I remember now!" she answered. "He was your friend in that
terrible battle with Abel Newt. It seems long ago, does it not?"

However far away it may have seemed, it was apparently a remembrance that
roused no especial emotion in Miss Hope Wayne's heart. Having satisfied
herself, she released the attention of Gabriel, who had other subjects of
conversation with May Newt than his quarrel with her brother for the
favor of Hope Wayne.

But Arthur Merlin observed that while Hope Wayne listened with her
ears to him, with her eyes she listened to Lawrence Newt. His simple,
unselfish, and therefore unconscious urbanity--his genial, kindly
humor--and the soft, manly earnestness of his face, were not
unheeded--how could they be?--by her. Since the day the will was read he
had been a faithful friend and counselor. It was he who negotiated for
her house. It was he who daily called and gave her a thousand counsels in
the details of management, of which every woman who comes into a large
property has such constant need. And in all the minor arrangements of
business she found in him the same skill and knowledge, combined with a
womanly reserve and softness, which had first so strongly attracted her.

Yet his visits as financial counsel, as he called himself, did not
destroy, they only heightened, the pleasure of the meetings of the Round
Table. For the group of friends still met. They talked of poetry still.
They talked of many things, and perhaps thought of but a few. The
pleasure to all of them was evident enough; but it see