Once or twice some one, more intimate or free than usual, would run up unannounced and catch her there.  Her acceptation of the situation was, he thought, perfect.  Without a shadow of embarrassment she acknowledged the introduction, “My wife,” did the honors of the occasion, said a few words regarding his state, and with some such words as “I will be back in an hour or so, Ross,” would leave the room.

Thus he was utterly unaware of what her abilities were.  Whether she was capable of holding a conversation, or could hold her own in society, he could not opine; and it annoyed him keenly, for he was, like most society-men, very punctilious regarding the manners of the particular woman who belonged to him.  That she was, in fact, an elegant conversationalist, quick and brilliant at repartee, a fine linguist and an intelligent thinker for a woman, he did not dream.

Nevertheless, the mere having her about him day after day, with her dainty little ways, grew to be a pleasure to him:  the making her grave little face, with its haunting look of sorrow, break into smiles, the light come into her soft gray eyes, became a real delight to him.  Then the color flushed over her cheek at his lightest word, and he found a real interest in watching it glow and fade from her pale face.

“She’s the sort of brune that colors well,” he thought.  “Old Sir John’s fancy of—­

  ’Her cheek was like a Cathrine pear,
  The side that’s next the sun’—­

suits her exactly.  And her hair, with the glint of gold in the chestnut hue, would be a glory in a beautiful woman.  Every motion of her heart shows in her face.  She’d never make a woman of the world:  she cannot hide her feelings, but lets one read them like an open book.”  Which was all he knew about it, since, spite of her treacherous color, those years of hard duty had trained her into the most perfect self-control on all needful and great occasions and matters.

How he missed her light step! how he had wanted her all these two days! for, though it was scarcely past noon, and she had gone late the day before, he was sure it was that—­“And seems like six, by George!” But, as he lay feverish and famished for a drink, a very ill-used man, she opened the door, and the air seemed lightened of its troubles at once.

Part II.

“Shall we go to Niagara for our wedding-trip?” Mr. Norval asked when the doctor had taken his last fee, pronouncing his patient cured.

“Unless you care particularly about it, I would rather go straight to New York.  I have canceled all my school-engagements by letter, having taken a new service”—­and she bowed to him—­“and Mrs. Keller promised to see to my little rooms and their belongings; but I should like to see Harry before he sails.”

“Want to make him promise to be a good boy while he’s away?” said he with a smile.

“Something like it,” she answered, laughingly.  “But Harry’s not a bad fellow, at all.”