“I believe they are upstairs, sir.  Walk into the drawing-room, and I will see,” said the neat housemaid, smiling at Farnham, as indeed was the general custom of women.  He took his seat in the cool and darkened room facing the door-way, which commanded a view of the stairs.  He sat in a large willow chair very much at his ease, looking about the pretty salon, enjoying its pictures and ornaments and the fragrance of the roses in the vases, as if he had a personal interest in them.  The maid came back and said the ladies would be down in a moment.

She had announced Farnham to Mrs. Belding, who had replied, “Tell him, in a moment.”  She was in the summer afternoon condition which the ladies call “dressing-sack,” and after an inspection at the glass, which seemed unsatisfactory, she walked across the hall to her daughter’s room.  She found Alice standing by the window, looking out upon the lake.

“There, I am glad you are all dressed.  Arthur Farnham has called, and you must go down and excuse me.  I said I would come, but it will take me so long to dress, he will get tired of waiting.  You run down and see him.  I suppose there is nothing particular.”

“Oh, mamma,” said Alice, “I don’t want to see him, and especially not alone.”

Mrs. Belding made large eyes in her surprise.  “Why, Alice, what has got into you?”

Alice blushed and cast down her eyes.  “Mamma,” she said, in a low voice, “do not ask me to go down.  You know what you told me last night.”

“There, that will do,” said the mother, with a tone of authority.  “Perhaps I was foolish to tell you that silly little story, but I am the judge of who shall visit this house.  You are too young to decide these questions for me, and I insist that what I told you shall make no difference in your treatment of Mr. Farnham.  You think too much of your own part in the matter.  He has come to see me, and not you, and I wish you to go down and make my excuses for keeping him waiting.  Will you go?”

“Yes, I will go,” said the young girl.  The blush had left her cheek and she had become a trifle pale.  She had not raised her eyes from the floor during her mother’s little speech; and when it was over and her mother had gone back to her room, Alice cast one glance at her mirror, and with a firm face walked down the stairs to the drawing-room.  Farnham heard the rustle of her dress with a beating of the heart which filled him with a delicious surprise.  “I am not past it, then,” was the thought that came instantly to his mind, and in that one second was a singular joy.  When she came in sight on the stairs, it was like a sudden enchantment to him.  Her beautiful head, crowned with its masses of hair drawn back into a simple Greek knot; her tall, strong figure, draped in some light and clinging stuff which imposed no check on her natural grace and dignity, formed a charming picture as she came down the long stairs; and Farnham’s eyes fastened eagerly upon her white hand as it glided