ch must have been vigorous in order to sweep in and
under the ruddy colour already in Carew's cheeks, testified that he did
remember the beautiful Mrs. Fairfax.

"I remember her very well," he returned; "is she as handsome as ever?
You have chosen a cold day to land in the North. I presume you came by
boat? We have been two hours coming up town. The cars are blocked by
snow. It's ten degrees below zero to-night. I wish you would see that
ashes are poured on the front steps, Caroline, at once."

The guest put out his hand. "I must be going. Good night, Aunt
Caroline----good night, Gardiner. Good night, sir."

Fairfax marked the ineffectuality in his aunt's face. It was neither
embarrassment nor shame, it was impotence. Her expression was not
appealing, but inadequate, and the slender hand that she gave him melted
in his like the snow. There was no grasp there, no stimulus to go on. He
turned to the red figure of the huddled child in the sofa corner.

"Good night, little cousin."

Bella dropped her book and sprang up. "Good night," she cried; "why,
you're not going, Cousin Antony?"

And as the older woman had done she extended her hand. It was only a
small child's hand, but the essential was there. The same sex but with
a different hand. It did not melt in Antony's; it lay, it clasped, lost
in his big palm. He felt, nevertheless, the vital little grasp, its
warmth and sweetness against his hand.

"Where are you going?"

Mr. Carew had passed out now that he had successfully eliminated from
the mind of the guest any idea that hospitality was to be extended. Once
more the little group were by themselves.

"There is the Buckingham Hotel," Mrs. Carew ventured. "It's an excellent
hotel; we get croquettes from there when Gardiner's appetite flags. The
children have their hair cut there as well."

Tired as Fairfax was, rebuffed as he was, he could not but be cheered by
the bright look of the little girl who stood between him and her mother.
She nodded at her cousin.

"Why, the Buckingham is six dollars a day," she said. "I asked the
barber when he cut Gardiner's hair."

Fairfax smiled. "I reckon that is a little steep, Bella."

"It's too far away, anyhow, Cousin Antony, it's a mile; twenty blocks is
a New York mile. There are the Whitcombs." And the child turned to the
less capable woman.

Her mother exclaimed: "Why, of course, of course, there are the
Whitcombs! My dear Antony," said his aunt, "if you could only