conjecture, and Christina flung off her burnous, crumpled it together, and, with uplifted finger, tossing it into a corner, gave it in charge to her poodle.  He stationed himself upon it, on his haunches, with upright vigilance.  Christina crossed the room with the step and smile of a ministering angel, and introduced herself to Mary Garland.  She had once told Rowland that she would show him, some day, how gracious her manners could be; she was now redeeming her promise.  Rowland, watching her, saw Mary Garland rise slowly, in response to her greeting, and look at her with serious deep-gazing eyes.  The almost dramatic opposition of these two keenly interesting girls touched Rowland with a nameless apprehension, and after a moment he preferred to turn away.  In doing so he noticed Roderick.  The young sculptor was standing planted on the train of a lady’s dress, gazing across at Christina’s movements with undisguised earnestness.  There were several more pieces of music; Rowland sat in a corner and listened to them.  When they were over, several people began to take their leave, Mrs. Hudson among the number.  Rowland saw her come up to Madame Grandoni, clinging shyly to Mary Garland’s arm.  Miss Garland had a brilliant eye and a deep color in her cheek.  The two ladies looked about for Roderick, but Roderick had his back turned.  He had approached Christina, who, with an absent air, was sitting alone, where she had taken her place near Miss Garland, looking at the guests pass out of the room.  Christina’s eye, like Miss Garland’s, was bright, but her cheek was pale.  Hearing Roderick’s voice, she looked up at him sharply; then silently, with a single quick gesture, motioned him away.  He obeyed her, and came and joined his mother in bidding good night to Madame Grandoni.  Christina, in a moment, met Rowland’s glance, and immediately beckoned him to come to her.  He was familiar with her spontaneity of movement, and was scarcely surprised.  She made a place for him on the sofa beside her; he wondered what was coming now.  He was not sure it was not a mere fancy, but it seemed to him that he had never seen her look just as she was looking then.  It was a humble, touching, appealing look, and it threw into wonderful relief the nobleness of her beauty.  “How many more metamorphoses,” he asked himself, “am I to be treated to before we have done?”

“I want to tell you,” said Christina.  “I have taken an immense fancy to Miss Garland.  Are n’t you glad?”

“Delighted!” exclaimed poor Rowland.

“Ah, you don’t believe it,” she said with soft dignity.

“Is it so hard to believe?”