girl
came slowly up the green slope before the house. "I do hope she's
nice. You can generally calculate on men boarders, but girls are
doubtful. Preserve me from a cranky boarder! I've had enough of them.
I kinder like her looks, though."

Ethel Lennox had paused at the front door as Mrs. Bentley and Agnes
came into the hall. Agnes gazed at the stranger with shy, unenvious
admiration; the latter stood on the stone step just where the big
chestnut by the door cast flickering gleams and shadows over her dress
and shining hair.

She was tall, and gowned in some simple white material that fell about
her in graceful folds. She wore a cluster of pale pink roses at her
belt, and a big, picturesque white hat shaded her face and the glossy,
clinging masses of her red hair--hair that was neither auburn nor
chestnut but simply red. Nor would anyone have wished it otherwise,
having once seen that glorious mass, with all its wonderful
possibilities of rippling luxuriance.

Her complexion was of that perfect, waxen whiteness that goes with
burnished red hair and the darkest of dilated violet eyes. Her
delicately chiselled features wore what might have been a somewhat too
decided impress of spirit and independence, had it not been for the
sweet mouth, red and dimpled and curving, that parted in a slow,
charming smile as Mrs. Bentley came forward with her kindly welcome.

"You must be real tired, Miss Lennox. It's a long drive from the train
down here. Agnes, show Miss Lennox up to her room, and tea will be
ready when you come down."

Agnes came forward with the shy grace that always won friends for her,
and the two girls went slowly up the broad, old-fashioned staircase,
while Mrs. Bentley bustled away to bring in the tea and put a goblet
of damask roses on the table.

"She looks like a picture, doesn't she, John?" she said to her
husband. "I never saw such a face--and that hair too. Would you have
believed red hair could be so handsome? She seems real friendly--none
of your stuck-up fine ladies! I've had all I want of them, I can tell
you!"

"Sh--sh--sh!" said Mr. Bentley warningly, as Ethel Lennox came in with
her arm about Agnes.

She looked even more lovely without her hat, with the soft red
tendrils of hair lying on her forehead. Mrs. Bentley sent a
telegraphic message of admiration across the table to her husband, who
was helping the cold tongue and feeling his way to a conversation.

"You'll find it pretty quiet h