pper with Bettina and me, but he's that
busy he hasn't had a night free to do it. When he does have one,
would you mind coming down and taking supper with us instead of my
sending yours up as usual? I'd be awful proud to have you."

"Of course I'll come. I'd love to. Can't you get him for Friday
evening? I have no engagement for Friday--"

"It's this minute I'll try." Mrs. Mundy got up with activity. "You
two were meant to know each other. Both of you have your own way of
doing things, and you'll have a lot to talk about. You'll like him
and he'll like you. I'll let you know if he can come as soon as I
find out." Closing the door behind her, she left me alone.

Taking the morning paper to the window, I drew my chair close to it,
pushing back the curtains that I might have all possible light as I
read. It was again snowing, and the grayness of the sky and
atmosphere was reflected in the room, notwithstanding the leaping
flames of the open fire, and after a while I put the paper aside and
looked out of the window.

Each twig and branch of the trees and shrubs of the snow-covered
Square was bent and twisted in fantastic shape by its coating of
sleet, and the usual shabbiness of the little park was glorified with
shining wonder; and under its spell, for the moment, I forgot all
else. Here and there a squirrel hopped cautiously from tree to tree,
now standing on its branches and nibbling a nut dug from its
hiding-place, now scurrying off to hide it again, and as I watched
the cautious cocking of their heads I laughed aloud, and the sound
recalled me to the waste I was making of time.

"This isn't writing my letters, and they must go off on the afternoon
mail." Getting up, I was about to turn from the window when a man
and a young woman coming across the Square caught my attention and,
hardly knowing why, I looked at them intently. Something about the
man was familiar. He was barely medium height, and singularly
slender, and though his head was bent that he might better hear the
girl who was talking, I was sure I had seen him before. The girl I
had never seen. She was dragging slowly, as if each step was forced,
and, putting her handkerchief close to her mouth, she began to cough.

For a moment they stood still and I saw the girl had on low shoes and
a shabby coat which had once been showy. On one side of her hat was
a red bird, battered and bruised, and at this comic effort at
dressiness, which poor