The footman who opened the door to Keith looked at him with keenness, but ended in confusion of mind.  He stood, at first, in the middle of the doorway and gave him a glance of swift inspection.  But when Keith asked if the ladies were in he suddenly grew more respectful.  The visitor was not up to the mark in appointment, but there was that in his air and tone which Bower recognized.  He would see.  Would he be good enough to walk in?

When he returned after a few minutes, indifference had given place to servility.

Would Mr. Keats please be good enough to walk into the drawing-room?  Thankee, sir.  The ladies would be down in a few moments.

Keith did not know that this change in bearing was due to the pleasure expressed above-stairs by a certain young lady who had flatly refused to accept her mother’s suggestion that they send word they were not at home.

Alice Yorke was not in a very contented frame of mind that day.  For some time she had been trying to make up her mind on a subject of grave importance to her, and she had not found it easy to do.  Many questions confronted her.  Curiously, Keith himself had played a part in the matter.  Strangely enough, she was thinking of him at the very time his card was brought up.  Mrs. Yorke, who had not on her glasses, handed the card to Alice.  She gave a little scream at the coincidence.

“Mr. Keith!  How strange!”

“What is that?” asked her mother, quickly.  Her ears had caught the name.

“Why, it is Mr. Keith.  I was just—.”  She stopped, for Mrs. Yorke’s face spoke disappointment.

“I do not think we can see him,” she began.

“Why, of course, I must see him, mamma.  I would not miss seeing him for anything in the world.  Go down, Bower, and say I will be down directly.”  The servant disappeared.

“Now, Alice,” protested her mother, who had already exhausted several arguments, such as the inconvenience of the hour, the impoliteness of keeping the visitor waiting, as she would have to do to dress, and several other such excuses as will occur to mammas who have plans of their own for their daughters and unexpectedly receive the card of a young man who, by a bare possibility, may in ten minutes upset the work of nearly two years—­“Now, Alice, I think it very wrong in you to do anything to give that young man any idea that you are going to reopen that old affair.”

Alice protested that she had no idea of doing anything like that.  There was no “old affair.”  She did not wish to be rude when he had taken the trouble to call—­that was all.

“Fudge!” exclaimed Mrs. Yorke.  “Trouble to call!  Of course, he will take the trouble to call.  He would call a hundred times if he thought he could get—­” she caught her daughter’s eye and paused—­“could get you.  But you have no right to cause him unhappiness.”

“Oh, I guess I couldn’t cause him much unhappiness now.  I fancy he is all over it now,” said the girl, lightly.  “They all get over it.  It’s a quick fever.  It doesn’t last, mamma.  How many have there been?”