d nothing
amiable, though she continuously smiled, and when she invited the
visitor to be seated, it was with off-hand familiarity very
unflattering to his ear.

'You came to see Mamma, of course. I dare say she won't be long. She
had to go through the rain on business with someone or other--perhaps
you know. Have you been in London all the summer? Oh no, I remember you
told me you had been somewhere in France; on the Loire, wasn't it?'

Rolfe dropped a careless affirmative. His temper prompted him to ask
whether Miss Frothingham knew the difference between the Loire and the
Garonne; but on the whole he was more puzzled than offended. What had
come over this young woman? Outwardly she was not much altered--a
little thinner in the face, perhaps; her eyes seeming a trifle darker
and deeper set; but in the point of demeanour she had appreciably
suffered. Her bearing and mode of speech were of that kind which, in a
man, would be called devil-may-care. Was it a result of student-life?
If her stinted allowance had already produced effects such as this, Mrs
Frothingham was justified in uneasiness.

He turned to Miss Leach, and with her talked exclusively for some
minutes. As soon as civility permitted, he would rise and make his
escape. Alma, the while, chatted with the younger sister, whom she
addressed as 'Gerda'. Then the door opened, and Mrs. Frothingham came
in, wearing her out-of-doors and gave him cordial welcome, though in
few and nervous costume; she fixed her eyes on Rolfe with a peculiar
intensity, words.

'I am no longer alone, you see.' She threw a swift side-glance at Alma.
'It is a great pleasure.'

'Does it rain still, Mamma?' asked Alma in a high voice.

'Not just now, my dear; but it's very disagreeable.'

'Then I'll walk with you to the station.' She addressed the sisters.
'Dora and Gerda can't stay; they have an appointment at five o'clock.
They'll come again in a day or two.'

After the leave-takings, and when Alma, with a remark that she would
not be long, had closed the door behind her, Mrs. Frothingham seated
herself and began to draw off her gloves. The bonnet and cloak she was
wearing, though handsome and in the mode, made her look older than at
Rolfe's last visit. She was now a middle-aged woman, with emphasis on
the qualifying term; in home dress she still asserted her sex, grace of
figure and freshness of complexion prevailing over years and sorrows.
At this moment, moreover, weariness, a