d no more. So he
refused an invitation to a tea from Mrs. Ryan, and one to a dinner and
another to a small musical from Miss. Ryan, and alone in his Pine Street
lodgings, for the first time in his life, read the "social columns" with
a throbbing heart.

One Saturday afternoon, two weeks from the day that he had last seen
Genevieve, he sat in his room trying to read. He had left the office
early, and though it was still some hours before dark, a heavy
unremitting rain had enveloped the afternoon in a premature twilight.
The perpetual run of water from a break in the gutter near his window
sounded drearily through the depressing history of the woes and
disappointments of David Grieve. The gloom of the book and the afternoon
was settling upon Faraday with the creeping stealthiness of a chill,
when a knock sounded upon his door, and one of the servants without
acquainted him with the surprising piece of intelligence that a lady was
waiting to see him in the sitting-room below.

As he entered the room, dim with the heavy somberness of the leaden
atmosphere, he saw his visitor standing looking out of the window--a
tall, broad-shouldered, small-waisted striking figure, with a neat black
turban crowning her closely braided hair. At his step she turned, and
revealed the gravely handsome face of Genevieve Ryan. He made no attempt
to take her hand, but murmured a regulation sentence of greeting; then,
looking into her eyes, saw for the first time that handsome face marked
with strong emotion. Miss. Ryan was shaken from her phlegmatic calm; her
hand trembled on the back of the chair before her; the little knot of
violets in her dress vibrated to the beating of her heart.

"This is not a very conventional thing to do," she said, with her usual
ignoring of all preamble, "but I can't help that. I had something to
talk to you about, Mr. Faraday, and as you would not come to see me, I
had to come to see you."

"What is it that you wanted to see me about?" asked Faraday, standing
motionless, and feeling in the sense of oppression and embarrassment
that seemed to weigh upon them both the premonition of an approaching
crisis.

She made no answer for a moment, but stood looking down, as if in an
effort to choose her words or collect her thoughts, the violets in her
dress rising and falling with her quickened breathing.

"It's rather hard to know how to say--anything," she said at length.

"If I can do anything for you," said the you