Dr. Bruce Brainard was followed by two men and three women.  In the flickering firelight Brown was obliged to come close to each, as in smiling silence they approached him, before he could make sure whom the furs and scarfs enshrouded.  “Sue!” he exclaimed, discovering his sister.  “And Hugh Breckenridge!  This is great, brother-in-law!  Mrs. Brainard—­can it be Mrs. Brainard?  How kind of you!  You must have known how I’ve been wanting to see you.  Webb Atchison, is that you, looming behind there?  How are you, old fellow?  But—­this lady in the veil—­”

He bent closer as he took the gloved hand outstretched, but all he could make out in the traitorous light was a pair of dark eyes, and lips that must be laughing behind the heavy silken veil.

“Do I know her?” he asked, looking round upon the others, who were watching him.

“You have met her,” Hugh Breckenridge assured him.

“Several times,” added Webb Atchison.

“But not of late,” said Brown, “or else I—­”

“Once to have seen her,” declared Doctor Brainard, “means never to forget.”

“You put me in a hard place,” Brown objected, trying in vain to distinguish outlines through the veil.  “She isn’t going to lift it?  Must I guess?”

“Of course you must guess, Don,” cried his sister.

“How can he?” laughed Breckenridge.  “He knows so many fair beings of about that height, and furs and veils are disguising things.  Without them, of course, though she wore a mask, he would have no difficulty.”

“Will you speak one word?” asked Brown of the unknown.

She shook her head.

“Then—­forgive me, but I’m puzzled,” said he, laying light but determined hold upon the veil.  “I can’t imagine at all who—­would honour me—­”

He gently lifted the veil.  The others saw his expression change as the drawn folds revealed a face whose dark-eyed beauty was vividly enhanced by the fire-glow upon cheeks which the November frost had stung into a wonder colour.  There was a general laugh of appreciation.

“Never would have thought it, eh?” chuckled Webb Atchison, a fine and prosperous figure of a bachelor past his first youth but not yet arrived at middle age, and with the look of one who does what he pleases with other people.  “Well, it wasn’t her plan, I assure you.  She was horror-stricken when she learned where we were bound.”

“Donald Brown in his bachelor apartment in the Worthington was one person, this queer fellow living in a roadside cabin is quite another,” suggested Dr. Bruce Brainard quizzically.  “Still, I’ll warrant Miss Forrest will confess to a bit of curiosity, when she found she was in for it.”

“Were you curious?” asked Donald Brown.  He was still looking steadily down into the lifted face of the person before him.  Into his own face had come a look as of one who has been taken unawares at a vulnerable point, but who has instantly rallied his forces to stand out the attack.