“Mamma, why don’t you invite him over to dinner?”

Mrs. Yorke gave an exclamation of surprise.

“Why, Alice, we know nothing about him.”

But the girl was insistent.

“Why, mamma, I am sure he is a gentleman.  Dr. Balsam said he was one of the best people about here, and his father was a clergyman.  Besides, he is very interesting.  His father was in the war; I believe he was a general.”

Mrs. Yorke pondered a moment, her pen in the air.  Her thoughts flew to New York and her acquaintances there.  Their view was her gauge.

“Well,” she said doubtfully, “perhaps, later I will; there is no one here whom we know except Mrs. Nailor.  I have heard that the people are very interesting if you can get at them.  I’ll invite him first to luncheon Saturday, and see how he is.”

It is, doubtless, just as well that none of us has the magic mirror which we used to read of in our childhood, which showed what any one we wished to know about was doing.  It would, no doubt, cause many perplexities from which, in our ignorance, we are happily free.  Had Gordon Keith known the terms on which he was invited to take a meal in the presence of Mrs. Yorke, he would have been incensed.  He had been fuming about her condescension ever since he had met her; yet he no sooner received her polite note than he was in the best humor possible.  He brushed up his well-worn clothes, treated himself to a new necktie, which he had been saving all the session, and just at the appointed hour presented himself with a face so alight with expectancy, and a manner which, while entirely modest, was so natural and easy, that Mrs. Yorke was astonished.  She could scarcely credit the fact that this bright-eyed young man, with his fine nose, firm chin, and melodious voice, was the same with the dusty, hot-faced, dishevelled-looking country boy to whom she had thought of offering money for a kindness two days before.

When Keith first entered the room Alice Yorke was seated in a reclining-chair, enveloped in soft white, from which she gave him a smiling greeting.  For years afterwards, whenever Gordon Keith thought of beauty it was of a girl smiling up at him out of a cloud of white.  It was a charming visit for him, and he reproached himself for his hard thoughts about Mrs. Yorke.  He aired all of his knowledge, and made such a favorable impression on the good lady that she became very friendly with him.  He did not know that Mrs. Yorke’s kindness to him was condescension, and her cordiality inspired as much by curiosity as courtesy.

“Dr. Balsam has been telling us about you, Mr. Keith,” said Mrs. Yorke, with a bow which brought a pleased smile to the young man’s face.

“He has?  The Doctor has always been good to me.  I am afraid he has a higher opinion of me than I deserve,” he said, with a boy’s pretended modesty, whilst his eyes strongly belied his words.

Mrs. Yorke assured him that such could not be the case.