“Shall I ask if I may come again,” he said, imitating Mr. Flctcher’s graceful bow with an odd smile.

“I let him come because he has lost his sister, and is lonely,” began Christie, but got no further, for David said, “Good-night!” abruptly, and was gone without a word to Mr. Power.

“He’s in a hurry to get back to his Kitty,” she thought, tormenting herself with feminine skill.  “Never mind,” she added, with a defiant sort of smile; “I ’ve got my Philip, handsomer and more in love than ever, if I’m not deceived.  I wonder if he will come again?”

Mr. Fletcher did come again, and with flattering regularity, for several weeks, evidently finding something very attractive in those novel gatherings.  Mr. Power soon saw why he came; and, as Christie seemed to enjoy his presence, the good man said nothing to disturb her, though he sometimes cast an anxious glance toward the recess where the two usually sat, apparently busy with books or pictures; yet, by their faces, showing that an under current of deeper interest than art or literature flowed through their intercourse.

Christie had not deceived herself, and it was evident that her old lover meant to try his fate again, if she continued to smile upon him as she had done of late.  He showed her his sunny side now, and very pleasant she found it.  The loss of his sister had touched his heart, and made him long to fill the place her death left vacant.  Better health sweetened his temper, and woke the desire to do something worth the doing; and the sight of the only woman he had ever really loved, reawakened the sentiment that had not died, and made it doubly sweet.

Why he cared for Christie he could not tell, but he never had forgotten her; and, when he met her again with that new beauty in her face, he felt that time had only ripened the blithe girl into a deep-hearted woman, and he loved her with a better love than before.  His whole manner showed this; for the half-careless, half-condescending air of former times was replaced by the most courteous respect, a sincere desire to win her favor, and at times the tender sort of devotion women find so charming.

Christie felt all this, enjoyed it, and tried to be grateful for it in the way he wished, thinking that hearts could be managed like children, and when one toy is unattainable, be appeased by a bigger or a brighter one of another sort.

“I must love some one,” she said, as she leaned over a basket of magnificent flowers just left for her by Mr. Fletcher’s servant, a thing which often happened now.  “Philip has loved me with a fidelity that ought to touch my heart.  Why not accept him, and enjoy a new life of luxury, novelty, and pleasure?  All these things he can give me:  all these things are valued, admired, and sought for:  and who would appreciate them more than I?  I could travel, cultivate myself in many delightful ways, and do so much good.  No matter if I was not very happy:  I should make Philip so, and have it in my power to comfort many poor souls.  That ought to satisfy me; for what is nobler than to live for others?”