d enjoy having such a man as you look to be, in the
house. Your letter, you see, is not your only introduction. You carry
with you in your face a passport to other men's favour."

"That is good of you," answered Mr. Jefferson--and Georgiana liked the
frank tone of his voice. It was an educated voice, it spoke for itself
of the personality behind it.

"I will go and talk with my daughter," she heard her father say, after
the two men had had some little conversation concerning a book or two
lying on the table by Mr. Warne's couch.

Georgiana fled into the kitchen, where her father found her. When he
appeared, closing the door behind him, she was ready for him before he
spoke.

"If he were the angel Gabriel or old Pluto himself I'd welcome him," she
said under her breath, her eyes dancing. "To have somebody in the house
for you to talk with besides your everlasting old parishioners--why, it
would be worth a world of trouble! And it won't be any trouble at all.
Go tell him your daughter reluctantly consents."

"You heard, then?" queried Mr. Warne, a quizzical smile on his gentle
lips.

"Of course I heard! I was listening hard! I was all ears--regular donkey
ears. He's a godsend. His board will pay for sirloin instead of round.
We'll have roast duck on Sunday--twice a winter. He can have the big
front room; I'll have it ready by to-morrow night."

"Come in and arrange details," urged Mr. Warne.

Georgiana stayed behind a minute to compose her face and manner, then
went in, the demurest of young housewives. Not for nothing had been her
years of college life, which had made, when occasion demanded, a quietly
poised woman out of a girl who had been, according to village standards,
a somewhat hoydenish young person.

As she faced the stranger in the full light of the fire-and-lamp-lit
room, she saw in detail that of which she had had a swift earlier
impression. Mr. Jefferson was a man in, she thought, the early thirties,
with a strongly modelled, shaven face, keen brown eyes behind
eyeglasses, a mouth which could be grave one moment and humorous the
next, and the air of a man who was accustomed to think for himself and
expect others to do so. He was well built though not tall, well dressed
though not dapper, and he looked less like a writer of books than a
participant in action of some kind or other. His dark hair showed a
thread or two of gray at the temples, but this suggestion of age did not
seem at all to age him.