son coming to his house, nor did he wish to.

That same evening Cynthia wrote a letter and posted it. She found it a
very difficult letter to write, and almost as difficult to drop into the
mail-box. She reflected that the holidays were close at hand, and then he
would go to Brampton and forget, even as he had forgotten before. And she
determined when Wednesday afternoon came around that she would take a
long walk in the direction of Brookline. Cynthia loved these walks, for
she sadly missed the country air,--and they had kept the color in her
cheeks and the courage in her heart that winter. She had amazed the
Merrill girls by the distances she covered, and on more than one occasion
she had trudged many miles to a spot from which there was a view of Blue
Hills. They reminded her faintly of Coniston.

Who can speak or write with any certainty of the feminine character, or
declare what unexpected twists perversity and curiosity may give to it?
Wednesday afternoon came, and Cynthia did not go to Brookline. She put on
her coat, and took it off again. Would he dare to come in the face of the
mandate he had received? If he did come, she wouldn't see him. Ellen had
received her orders.

At four o'clock the doorbell rang, and shortly thereafter Ellen appeared,
simpering and apologetic enough, with a card. She had taken the trouble
to read it this time. Cynthia was angry, or thought she was, and her
cheeks were very red.

"I told you to excuse me, Ellen. Why did you let him in?"

"Miss Cynthia, darlin'," said Ellen, "if it was made of flint I was,
wouldn't he bring the tears out of me with his wheedlin' an' coaxin'? An'
him such a fine young gintleman! And whin he took to commandin' like,
sure I couldn't say no to him at all at all. 'Take the card to her,
Ellen,' he says--didn't he know me name!--'an' if she says she won't see
me, thin I won't trouble her more.' Thim were his words, Miss."

There he was before the fire, his feet slightly apart and his hands in
his pockets, waiting for her. She got a glimpse of him standing thus, as
she came down the stairs. It was not the attitude of a culprit. Nor did
he bear the faintest resemblance to a culprit as he came up to her in the
doorway. The chief recollection she carried away of that moment was that
his teeth were very white and even when he smiled. He had the impudence
to smile. He had the impudence to seize one of her hands in his, and to
hold aloft a sheet of paper in the o