Colina, busying herself attentively with the centerpiece of painter’s brush, wondered if her father had met Ambrose Doane.  She gave him a brief, offhand account of her adventure without mentioning their guest’s name.

“But who is it?” he asked.

She answered a little breathlessly; “Ambrose Doane of Moultrie.”

Gaviller’s face changed slightly.  “H-m!” he said non-committally.

“Doesn’t the table look nice?” said Colina quickly.

“Very nice,” he said.

“We must prove to ourselves once in a while that we are not savages!”

“Naturally!  Do you want me to dress?”

Colina, who had not looked at her father, nevertheless felt the inimical atmosphere.  She stooped to a touch of flattery.  “You are always well dressed,” she said, smiling at him.

“Hm!” said Gaviller again.  “Call me when you’re ready.”  He marched off to his library.

Colina breathed freely.  So far so good!  Ambrose Doane had not been to call on her father.  He was hardly the simple youth she had decided.  But she couldn’t think the less of him for that.

When she heard the door-bell ring—­Gaviller’s house boasted the only door-bell north of Caribou Lake—­her heart astonished her with its thumping.  She ran up to her own room.  Ambrose according to instructions previously given was to be shown into the drawing-room.

Another wonder of Gaviller’s house was the full-length mirror imported for Colina.  She ran to it now.  It treated her kindly.  The crisp, thin, dead-black draperies showed up her white skin in dazzling contrast.

On second thought she left off the string of pearls.  The effect was better without any ornament.  Her face was her despair; her eyes were misty and unsure; the color came and went in her cheeks; she could not keep her lips closed.

“You fool!  You fool!” she stormed at herself.  “A man you have seen once!  He will despise you!”

She could not keep the dinner waiting.  Bracing herself, she started for the hall.  A final glance in the mirror gave her better heart.  After all she was beautiful and beautifully dressed.  She descended the stairs slowly, whispering to herself at every step:  “Be game!”

Though the sun was still shining out-of-doors, according to Colina’s fancy, every night at this hour the shutters were closed and the lamps lighted.  The drawing-room was lighted by a single, tall lamp with a yellow shade.

Ambrose was standing in the middle of the room.  He had changed his clothes.  His suit was somewhat wrinkled, and his boots unpolished, but he looked less badly than he thought.  At sight of Colina he caught his breath and turned very pale.  His eyes widened with something akin to awe.  Colina was suddenly relieved.

“So you dared to come!” she said with a careless smile.

He did not answer.  Plainly he could not.  He stood as if rooted to the floor.  Colina had meant to offer him her hand, but suddenly changed her mind.