“You can sit out-doors until the weather gets too cold,” observed the professor.  “The sky is as high here as in New York, isn’t it?”

Cornelia ignored this remark with admirable self-poise.  “Aunt Margaret was asking a good deal about Mr. Bressant, too,” said she.  “She said she’d only heard about him from you, papa; but I thought, sometimes, she must be fibbing.  Once in a while, you know, she acted just as if she had forgotten having said she didn’t know him.  However, that’s absurd, of course.  By-the-way, where is he?  Here still?”

“Oh, yes.  O Neelie dear, I have such news to tell you.  But—­yes, he’s out there by the fountain, I believe.  Go out and speak to him, and then come up to my room and hear the secret.”

“All right, I’ll be there directly;” and, springing from her chair with a sudden overflow of animal spirits, drowning out the small growth of affectation, the beautiful woman danced out upon the balcony, and down the steps.  Sophie went to her chamber, and the professor remained in his study to indulge his own thoughts, which, by the way, appeared to be neither light nor agreeable.

As Cornelia neared the fountain, her steps grew more staid.  The clustering shrubbery hid Bressant from sight until she was close upon him.  She thought, perhaps, in the few moments that passed as she walked down the path, of that other time when she had picked her way, in his company, between the rain-besprinkled shrubs.  Here was the same tea-rose bush, and hardly a flower left upon it.  Yes, here was one, full-blown, to be sure, and ready to fall to pieces; but still, perhaps he would smile and remember when he saw it in her bosom; or perhaps—­and Cornelia smiled secretly to herself at the thought—­perhaps he needed no reminder.  He was sitting by the fountain now.  What more likely than that he was thinking over that first strange scene that had been enacted between them there?  Dear fellow! how he would start and redden with pleasure when he saw her appear, in flesh and blood, in the midst of his reverie!  Cornelia blushed; but some of the loose petals of the overblown rose in her bosom became detached, and floated earthward.

All at once her heart began to beat so as to incommode her:  she was uncertain whether she was pale or red.  It seemed to require all her courage to get over the last few steps of garden-path that brought her into view.  What was it?  A premonition?  Now she saw him, as he sat with his legs crossed, his head resting on his hand, turned away from her, staring moodily before him.

He did not look up until Cornelia stood almost beside him; then, become aware of her presence, he leaped suddenly to his feet, and towered before her, one hand grasping the fantastically-curved limb which ornamented the back of the rustic seat.

In the space that intervened while Cornelia, startled at his abrupt movement, remained motionless in front of him, the piece of branch which his hand held parted with a sharp crack.  It broke the pause, and Cornelia laughed.