But when she answered the ring she supposed was his and flinging open the door saw Graham Stannard there instead, she got a jarring shock which her overstrung nerves were in no condition to endure.

“I persuaded Mr. Hood to let me come to tea in his place,” he said.  “It was rather cheeky of me to ask him, I’m afraid.  I hope you will forgive me.”

The arrest of all her processes of thought at sight of him lasted only the barest instant.  Then her mind flashed backward through a surmise which embraced the whole series of events.  An alarm at Hickory Hill over her failure to arrive (which somehow they had been led to expect), a dash by Graham (Rush not available, perhaps), into town for news.  To Wallace Hood, of course.  And Wallace had betrayed her.  In the interest of romantic sentiment.  The happy ending given its chance.  A rich young adoring husband instead of a job as nursery governess in Omaha!

It took no longer for all that to go through her mind than Graham needed for his little explanatory speech on the door-step.  There he stood waiting for her answer.  The only choice she had was between shutting the door in his face without a word, or graciously inviting him to come in and propose to her—­for the last time, at all events.  It was not, of course, a choice at all.

“I’m afraid it’s a terribly hot day for tea,” she said, moving back from the doorway to make room for him to come in.  “Wallace likes it, though.  I might make you something cold if only I had ice, but of course there isn’t any in the house.  It’s nice and cool, though, isn’t it; from having been shut up so long?”

Anything,—­any frantic thing that could be spun into words to cover the fact that she had no welcome for him at all, not even the most wan little beam of friendly tenderness.  She had seen the hurt look come into his eyes, incipient panic at the flash of anger which had not been meant for him.  She must float him inside, somehow, and anchor him to the tea table.  There she could get herself together and deal with him—­decently.

He came along, tractably enough, sat in the chair that was to have been Wallace’s, and talked for a while of the tea, and how hot it was this afternoon, and how beautifully cool in here.  It was hot, too, out at Hickory Hill but one thought little of it.  The air was drier for one thing.  He and Rush had commented on the difference as they drove in to-day.

“Oh, Rush came in with you, did he?” she observed.

He flushed and stammered over the admission and it was easy to guess why.  The fact that her brother, as well as Wallace, was lurking in the background somewhere waiting for results gave an official cast to his call that was rather—­asinine.  She came to the rescue.

“I suppose he and Wallace had something they wanted to talk about,” she commented easily, and he made haste to assent.

She steadied herself with a breath.  “Did Wallace tell you,” she asked, “about our explosion at Ravinia over Paula’s new contract?  And how furious both father and Paula are with me about it?  And how I’m out looking for a job?  He didn’t say anything about his sister, did he; whether he’d written to her to-day or not?”