ance, take Mr. Dexter up to see the flowers in our parlor;
and when you come down, bring my shawl."

"Mr. Dexter does not care about flowers, I think," answered Anne, too
absorbed in her own troubles to be concerned about her grandaunt's open
manoeuvre. She spoke mechanically.

"On the contrary, I am very fond of flowers," said Dexter, rising
immediately. "And I particularly thank you, Miss Vanhorn, for giving me
this opportunity to--admire them." He spoke with emphasis, and bowed as
he spoke. The old lady gave him a stately inclination in return. They
understood each other; the higher powers were agreed.

When Anne, still self-absorbed and unconscious, entered the little
parlor, she was surprised to find it brightly lighted and prepared, as
if for their reception. The red curtains were closed, a small fire
crackled on the hearth, the rich perfume of the flowers filled the warm
air; in the damp September evening the room was a picture of comfort,
and in the ruddy light her own figure, in its white lace dress, was
clearly outlined and radiant. "Here are the flowers," she said, going
toward the table. Dexter had closed the door; he now came forward, and
looked at the blossoms a moment absently. Then he turned toward the
sofa, which was covered with the same red chintz which hung over the
windows to the floor.

"Shall we sit here awhile? The room is pleasant, if you are in no hurry
to return."

"No, I am in no hurry," replied Anne. She was glad to be quiet and away
from the dancers; she feared to meet Heathcote. Mr. Dexter always
talked; she would not be obliged to think of new subjects, or to make
long replies.

But to-night Mr. Dexter was unusually silent. She leaned back against
the red cushions, and looked at the point of her slipper; she was asking
herself how long this evening would last.

"Miss Douglas," began Dexter at length, and somewhat abruptly, "I do not
know in what light you regard me, or what degree of estimation you have
conferred upon me; but--" Here he paused.

"It is of no consequence," said Anne.

"What?"

"I mean," she said, rousing herself from her abstraction, "that it does
not matter one way or the other. I am going away to-morrow, Mr. Dexter.
I see now that I ought never to have come. But--how could I know?"

"Why do you go?" said her companion, pausing a moment also, in his own
train of thought.

"I have duties elsewhere," she began; then stopped. "But that is not the
real reason,