little. Who can it be!"

Penelope bent forward to peer through the curtains and saw the man
mounting the steps to their little veranda and stamping the snow from
his feet. Instantly she wheeled her chair about and sped it into the
adjoining room as her mother opened the door to their visitor.

"You are Mrs. Brand, I think? Felix Brand's mother?" he said. "I
am a friend of his--my name is Hugh Gordon--and as I was coming to
Philadelphia I promised him I would run out here and see you."

As they entered the living room his keen, dark eyes swept it alertly,
as they had the exterior of the house. A shade of disappointment
crossed his face.

"Your daughter?" he asked abruptly. "May I not see her, too?"

Mrs. Brand hesitated. The shyness of her girlhood years still lingered
in her manner when in the presence of strangers, and she glanced at
her visitor, then at the floor, and her hands fluttered about her
lap. Gordon's face and eyes softened as he looked at her. There was
something very sweet and appealing in the gentle diffidence of this
little, plain, elderly woman.

"Penelope doesn't often see people--anyone, and she is very unwilling
to meet strangers. Perhaps Felix told you--you know----"

"Yes, I know. I understand how she feels, but I want very much to see
her. I know Felix well, and I know a good deal about her, enough to
make me honor and admire her very much. Won't you tell her, please,
that I came out here particularly to see you and her, and that I shall
be much disappointed if I have to go back without meeting both of
you?"

Penelope soon returned with her mother and both had many questions
to ask concerning Felix. Was he well? Was he working harder than he
ought? Was his new apartment very beautiful? Had Mr. Gordon seen the
plans for the new monument with which he had won in the national
competition?

He used to send them photographs, Penelope said, but lately they knew
little about his work unless they saw pictures of it in the
newspapers.

But, indeed, they didn't expect so much attention from him now, her
mother quickly added, for as his work increased and became of so much
importance they understood how necessary it was for him to give it all
his time and thought.

"It would really be selfish," she went on, "as I sometimes tell
Penelope, to want him to spend time on us, writing long letters, or
coming over here, when we know that his success depends upon his
devoting all his energies to his w