And these chance meetings were not all.

“Who was it that called, Susie?” Gertrude asked one evening when her sister came up from a half-hour’s interview with some one in the parlor.

“The gentleman who rents my house,” Susan replied, her face turned from Gertrude.

“What is he for ever coming here for?”

“He came to tell me that there were some screws loose in a door-hinge,” Susan answered.

“For pity’s sake!” exclaimed Gertrude.  “That’s a great thing to come bothering about!  Why didn’t he get a screw-driver and screw up the screws?”

“It’s my place to keep the house in order,” said Susan.

“The report of things out of order usually sets landlords in a feaze, but you keep as serene as the moon with your tenant’s complaints.  He’s always finding something out of order, which seems strange, considering that the house is brand-new.”

Not many days after Gertrude had occasion to repeat her question to Susan:  “Who was it called?”

She received the reply she was expecting:  “The man who rents my house.”

“Indeed!  What’s the matter now? another screw loose?” Gertrude asked.

“He wanted to suggest an alteration in the pantry.”

“Why, he’s for ever wanting alterations made!  I don’t see how you can be so patient with his criticisms:  we all know you are house-proud.  I wouldn’t listen to that man:  he’ll ruin your house with his improvements.  I don’t know, anyhow, what he can mean by saying in one breath that it is a perfect house, and in the next asking for an alteration.”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Susan; and then her heart went into a happy wondering as to what Mr. Falconer could mean.

“What is it this time?” Gertrude asked about three days after in reference to “the man who rents my house,” as described by Susan.  “Does he want another story put on your house?”

“No, he simply wanted to say that it would suit him to pay the rent semi-monthly, instead of monthly,” Susan answered somewhat warmly.

“And, pray, what’s his notion for that?” Gertrude asked.

“I didn’t inquire,” replied Susan shortly, resenting the evident criticism in her sister’s tone.

But Susan did inquire why it was—­inquired not of Mr. Falconer, but of her own heart.

“I don’t see any reason for his making two errands to do a thing that could be done in one call.  Instead of putting off pay-day, after the manner of most men, he proposes to anticipate it.  Well, perhaps you and he understand it:  I don’t.”

Why was this?  Was it because it would double his visits to her?  Was Susan vain or foolish that she thus questioned herself?

It was perhaps a little singular that Mr. Falconer’s name had never passed between these two sisters; neither had Gertrude ever seen the gentleman who made these frequent business-calls on Susan.

“The man who rents my house:”  this reply told something—­all that Gertrude cared to know on the subject; whereas the reply, “Mr. Falconer,” would have conveyed no information.  And because the name had never been mentioned Susan was startled one morning after one of Gertrude’s fine parties.  She was sitting at the window with a new magazine while the young people talked over the party.