, and Keith, having made his adieus
to Mrs. Wentworth, withdrew. He was not in a happy frame of mind over
what he had heard.

The next visit that Keith paid required more thought and preparation
than that to the Wentworth house. He had thought of it, had dreamed of
it, for years. He was seized with a sort of nervousness when he found
himself actually on the avenue, in sight of the large brown-stone
mansion which he knew must be the abode of Miss Alice Yorke.

He never forgot the least detail of his visit, from the shining brass
rail of the outside steps and the pompous little hard-eyed servant in a
striped waistcoat and brass buttons, who looked at him insolently as he
went in, to the same servant as he bowed to him obsequiously as he came
out. He never forgot Alice Yorke's first appearance in the radiance of
girlhood, or Mrs. Yorke's affable imperviousness, that baffled
him utterly.

The footman who opened the door to Keith looked at him with keenness,
but ended in confusion of mind. He stood, at first, in the middle of the
doorway and gave him a glance of swift inspection. But when Keith asked
if the ladies were in he suddenly grew more respectful. The visitor was
not up to the mark in appointment, but there was that in his air and
tone which Bower recognized. He would see. Would he be good enough
to walk in?

When he returned after a few minutes, indifference had given place to
servility.

Would Mr. Keats please be good enough to walk into the drawing-room?
Thankee, sir. The ladies would be down in a few moments.

Keith did not know that this change in bearing was due to the pleasure
expressed above-stairs by a certain young lady who had flatly refused to
accept her mother's suggestion that they send word they were not
at home.

Alice Yorke was not in a very contented frame of mind that day. For some
time she had been trying to make up her mind on a subject of grave
importance to her, and she had not found it easy to do. Many questions
confronted her. Curiously, Keith himself had played a part in the
matter. Strangely enough, she was thinking of him at the very time his
card was brought up. Mrs. Yorke, who had not on her glasses, handed the
card to Alice. She gave a little scream at the coincidence.

"Mr. Keith! How strange!"

"What is that?" asked her mother, quickly. Her ears had caught the name.

"Why, it is Mr. Keith. I was just--." She stopped, for Mrs. Yorke's face
spoke disappointment.

"I do no