When Robert got off the car he was ready to fall at her feet, to push between her and the roughness of life, between her and the whole world.

He went up the little walk between the dry shrubs and rang the bell.  There was no light in the front windows nor in the hall.  Presently he heard footsteps, and saw a glimmer of light advancing towards him through the length of the hall.  There were muslin-curtained side-lights to the door.  Then the door opened, and little Amabel Tenny stood there holding a small kerosene lamp carefully in both hands.  She held it in such a manner that the light streamed up in Robert’s face and nearly blinded him.  He was dimly conscious of a little face full of a certain chary innocence and pathos regarding him.

“Is Miss Ellen Brewster at home?” asked Robert, smiling down at the little thing.

“Yes, sir,” replied Amabel.

Then she remained perfectly still, holding the lamp, as if she had been some little sculptured light-bearer.  She did not return his smile, and she did not ask him in.  She simply regarded him with her sharp, innocent, illuminated face.  Robert felt ridiculously nonplussed.

“Did you say she was in, my dear?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” replied Amabel, then relapsed into silence.

“Can I see her?” asked Robert, desperately.

“I don’t know,” replied Amabel.  Then she stood still, as before, holding the lamp.

Robert began to wonder what he was to do, when he heard a woman’s voice calling from the sitting-room at the end of the hall, the door of which had been left ajar: 

“Amabel Tenny, what are you doin’?  You are coldin’ the house all off!  Who is it?”

“It’s a man, Aunt Fanny,” called Amabel.

“Who is the man?” asked the voice.  Then, much to Robert’s relief, Fanny herself appeared.

She colored a flaming red when she saw him.  She looked at Amabel as if she had an impulse to shake her.

“Why, Mr. Lloyd, is it you?” she cried.

“Good-evening, Mrs. Brewster; is—­is your daughter at home?” asked Robert.  He felt inclined to roar with laughter, and yet a curious dismay was beginning to take possession of him.

“Yes, Ellen is at home,” replied Fanny, with alacrity.  “Walk in, Mr. Lloyd.”  She was blushing and smiling as if she had been her own daughter.  It was foolish, yet pathetic.  Although Fanny asked the young man to walk in, and snatched the lamp peremptorily from Amabel’s hand, she still hesitated.  Robert began to wonder if he should ever be admitted.  He did not dream of the true reason for the hesitation.  There was no fire in the parlor, and in the sitting-room were Andrew, John Sargent, and Mrs. Wetherhed.  It seemed to her highly important that Ellen should see her caller by herself, but how to take him into that cold parlor?

Finally, however, she made up her mind to do so.  She opened the parlor door.