k me for a walk, Miss Pinnegar?" she said,
laughing, to her confidante.

"I can't imagine," replied Miss Pinnegar, eyeing her.

"You never would imagine," said Alvina. "Albert Witham."

"Albert Witham!" exclaimed Miss Pinnegar, standing quite motionless.

"It may well take your breath away," said Alvina.

"No, it's not that!" hurriedly expostulated Miss Pinnegar. "Well--!
Well, I declare!--" and then, on a new note: "Well, he's very
eligible, I think."

"Most eligible!" replied Alvina.

"Yes, he is," insisted Miss Pinnegar. "I think it's very good."

"What's very good?" asked Alvina.

Miss Pinnegar hesitated. She looked at Alvina. She reconsidered.

"Of course he's not the man I should have imagined for you, but--"

"You think he'll do?" said Alvina.

"Why not?" said Miss Pinnegar. "Why shouldn't he do--if you like
him."

"Ah--!" cried Alvina, sinking on the sofa with a laugh. "That's it."

"Of course you couldn't have anything to do with him if you don't
care for him," pronounced Miss Pinnegar.

Albert continued to hang around. He did not make any direct attack
for a few days. Suddenly one evening he appeared at the back door
with a bunch of white stocks in his hand. His face lit up with a
sudden, odd smile when she opened the door--a broad, pale-gleaming,
remarkable smile.

"Lottie wanted to know if you'd come to tea tomorrow," he said
straight out, looking at her with the pale light in his eyes, that
smiled palely right into her eyes, but did not see her at all. He
was waiting on the doorstep to come in.

"Will you come in?" said Alvina. "Father is in."

"Yes, I don't mind," he said, pleased. He mounted the steps, still
holding his bunch of white stocks.

James Houghton screwed round in his chair and peered over his
spectacles to see who was coming.

"Father," said Alvina, "you know Mr. Witham, don't you?"

James Houghton half rose. He still peered over his glasses at the
intruder.

"Well--I do by sight. How do you do?"

He held out his frail hand.

Albert held back, with the flowers in his own hand, and giving his
broad, pleased, pale-gleaming smile from father to daughter, he
said:

"What am I to do with these? Will you accept them, Miss Houghton?"
He stared at her with shining, pallid smiling eyes.

"Are they for me?" she said, with false brightness. "Thank you."

James Houghton looked over the top of his spectacles, searchingly,
at the flowers, as if they had been a bunch of wh