to still the rapid flutter, which might be from pain and might be from joy—­she could not tell.  She had imagined their possible meeting so many times, and it was not at all like this.  She ought to receive him coldly, she ought to receive him kindly, she ought to receive him indifferently.  But how real he was, how handsome he was!  If she could have obeyed the impulse of the moment I am not sure but she would have fled, and cast herself face downward somewhere, and cried a little and thanked God for him.  He was in the room.  In his manner there was no hesitation, in his expression no uncertainty.  His face beamed with pleasure, and there was so much open admiration in his eyes that Margaret, conscious of it to her heart’s core, feared that her aunt would notice it.  And she met him calmly enough, frankly enough.  The quickness with which a woman can pull herself together under such circumstances is testimony to her superior fibre.

“I’ve been looking across here ever since morning,” he said, as soon as the hand-shaking and introduction were over, “and I’ve only this minute been released.”  There was no air of apology in this, but a delicate intimation of impatience at the delay.  And still, what an unconscious brute a man is!

“I thought perhaps you had returned,” said Margaret, “until my aunt was just telling me we were asked to dine with you.”

Henderson gave her a quick glance.  Was it possible she thought he could go away without seeing her?

“Yes, and I was commissioned to bring you over when you are ready.”  “I will not keep you waiting long, Mr. Henderson,” interposed Miss Forsythe, out of the goodness of her heart.  “My niece has been taking a long walk, and this debilitating spring weather—­”

“Oh, since the sun has gone away, I think I’m quite up to the exertion, since you wish it, auntie,” a speech that made Henderson stare again, wholly unable to comprehend the reason of an indirection which he could feel—­he who had been all day impatient for this moment.  There was a little talk about the country and the city at this season, mainly sustained by Miss Forsythe and Henderson, and then he was left alone.  “Of course you should go, Margaret,” said her aunt, as they went upstairs; “it would not be at all the thing for me to leave you here.  And what a fine, manly, engaging fellow Mr. Henderson is!”

“Yes, he acts very much like a man;” and Margaret was gone into her room.

Go?  There was not force enough in the commonwealth, without calling out the militia, to keep Margaret from going to the dinner.  She stopped a moment in the middle of her chamber to think.  She had almost forgotten how he looked—­his eyes, his smile.  Dear me! how the birds were singing outside, and how fresh the world was!  And she would not hurry.  He could wait.  No doubt he would wait now any length of time for her.  He was in the house, in the room below, perhaps looking out of the window, perhaps reading, perhaps spying