“Well, that’ll be sweeter than anything I’ve got,” said the good lady. —­ “Why, who’s there? —­”

Somebody there was, knocking at the door; and when the door was opened, who was there shewed herself in the shape of a young lady, very bright looking and well dressed.  She glanced at Mrs. Nettley with a slight word of inquiry and passing her made her way on up to the couch.

“Is this Winifred?” she said, looking, it might be, a little shocked and a little sorrowful at the pale and mind-worn face that used to be so round and rosy; and about which the soft fair hair still clustered as abundantly as ever.

“Yes ma’am,” Winifred said, half rising.

“Don’t get up, —­ don’t you know me?”

Winnie’s eye keenly scanned the bright fresh face that bent over her, but she shook her head and said ‘no’.

“Can’t you remember my being at your house —­ some time ago? —­ me and” she stopped.  “Don’t you remember?  We spent a good while there —­ one summer —­ it was when you were a little girl.”

“O!” —­ said Winnie, —­ “are you —­”

“Yes.”

“I remember.  But you were not so large then, either.”

“I am not very large now,” said her visiter, taking a chair beside Winnie’s couch.

“No.  But I didn’t know you.”

“How do you do, dear?”

“I don’t know,” said Winnie.  “I am not very well now-a-days.”

“And Mannahatta is hot and dusty and disagreeable —­ more than any place you ever were in before in your life, isn’t it?”

“I don’t care,” said Winnie.  “I’d rather be with Winthrop.”

“And can he make up for dust and heat and bad air and all?”

The smile that broke upon Winnie’s face Elizabeth remembered was like that of old time; there was a sparkle in the eyes that looked up at her, the lips had their childish play, and the thin cheek even shewed its dimple again.  As she met the look, Elizabeth’s own face grew grave and her brow fell; and it was half a minute before she spoke.

“But he cannot be with you a great deal of the time.”

“O yes he is,” said Winnie; —­ “he is here in the morning, and at breakfast and dinner and tea, and all the evening.  And all Sundays.”

“That’s the best day of the week then, I suppose.”

“It’s always that,” said Winnie.  “And he takes a great many walks with me —­ every day almost, when it gets cool —­ we go down on the Green and stay there as long as it’s pleasant.”

Elizabeth was silent again.

“But doesn’t he have studying or writing to do in the evenings?  I thought he had.”

“O yes,” said Winnie, “but then it don’t hinder him from talking to me.”

“And is he good enough to make you like this place better than your beautiful country home?”

“I would rather be here,” said Winnie.  But she turned her face a little from her questioner, and though it remained perfectly calm, the eyes filled to overflowing.  Elizabeth again paused, and then bending over her where she still lay on her couch, she pressed her own full red lips to Winnie’s forehead.  The salute was instantly returned upon one of her little kid gloves which Winnie laid hold of.