which is as irreproachable as it is telling.  There was a relation between the swing of her drapery and, the movements of her body.  She was rich of figure, and flexile.  And she was glad to see Mr. Harlson, and said so.  He was not really embarrassed.  The time had passed when that could be his way.  But he was puzzled as to what to say.  Some comment he made upon the quality of the season and upon Mrs. Rolfston’s appearance of good health.  Then he entered upon his subject with no link of connection with preceding sentences.  “I but learned to-day,” he said, “that the tie I wear was made by you.  All fellows have little fancies, I suppose.  I have, anyhow.  I liked this, though I did not know who made it.  My sister told me, and I have come to thank you.  Why did you do it for me?”

That was putting the case plainly enough, certainly, and promptly enough, but it was not of a nature to trouble Mrs. Rolfston.  This was a clever woman, married ten years, and of experiences which varied.  She even glanced over the visitor from head to heel before she answered, and her color deepened and her eyes brightened, though he did not note it.

“You have changed,” she commented.  “I should hardly have known you but for your lips and eyes.  You are broader and taller, and a big man, are you not?  How long do you stay in town?  Will you spend the summer here?”

“I wish I could,” he answered.  “It is pleasant here, but I must work, you know.  I may idle for a little time.  You haven’t said anything about the tie.”

“Oh, the tie?  Don’t speak of that.  I had the whim to make something for somebody—­I have an embroidering mania on me sometimes—­and there was a chance to dispose of it, you see.”

The young man’s face fell a little as he looked upon the great, handsome woman and heard her seemingly careless words.  He did not want to go away, yet what excuse was there for staying?  He rose, hat in hand.

Here, now, was the woman in a quandary.  She had not anticipated such abruptness.

“Don’t go yet,” she said, impetuously.  “I want to talk with you.  Tell me all about the college, and yourself, and your plans.  And—–­about the tie—­I wouldn’t have made one for any one else.  I remembered your face.  You know I was go often at your home, and I wondered how it would suit you.  You should take that interest as a compliment.  And I am lonesome here, and you are idling, you say, and why should we not be good friends for the summer?  The men in town annoy me, and the girls here are not bright enough for you.  Let us be cronies, will you not?  Take me fishing to-morrow.  I want you to teach me how to catch bass in the river.  I heard some one say once you knew better than any one else how that is done.  Is not this a good idea of mine?  It will help both of us kill time.”

She sat there on the sofa, half stretched out, yet not carelessly nor ungracefully, but in an assumed laziness of real felinishness, a woman just ten years older than the man she was addressing, yet in all the lushness of magnificent womanhood, and emanating all magnetism.