It was a clear, bracing afternoon and evening, wherein were blended the characteristics of both autumn and winter, and the young people returned with glowing cheeks and quickened pulses.

“Oh, Millie!” cried Belle, “such a walk as I have had would make you over new.  I felt as if I were a hundred this morning, but now I feel just about sixteen—­that was my last birthday, wasn’t it, mamma?”

Both mother and sister smiled to see her sparkling eyes and bubbling happiness; and the latter thought, “For her sake I must certainly either master or conceal my dislike for that young fellow.”

Indeed, she herself appeared sadly in need of a little vigorous exercise in the frosty air.  The events of the day had been exceedingly depressing; despondency had taken the place of the irritation and the hopes and fears that had alternated in the morning hours; but she unselfishly tried to disguise it, and to aid her mother in preparing an inviting supper for Belle and her guest.

Mildred was obliged to admit to herself that Roger had very little of the appearance and manner of an uncouth countryman.  There was a subtle, half-conscious homage for her mother in his every look and word, and for herself a politeness almost as distant and unobtrusive as her own.  Once, when a sigh escaped her as she was busy about the room, she looked apprehensively at him, and, as she feared, encountered a glance from which nothing could escape.  She now felt that her assumed cheerfulness deceived him so little that, were it not for Belle, she would wholly forego the effort, and end the long, miserable day in her own room.

Suddenly the thought occurred to her:  “I will learn from his microscopic eyes how papa appears to others not blinded by love as we are; for, in spite of all my efforts to look on the bright side, I am exceedingly ill at ease about him.  I fear he is failing faster than we think—­we who see him daily.  Mr. Atwood has not seen him for months, and the least change would be apparent to him.”

Immunity from business induced Mr. Jocelyn to gratify his cravings more unstintedly on Sunday; and as he was often exceedingly irritable if disturbed when sleeping off the effects of an extra indulgence, they usually left him to wake of his own accord.  Unfortunately the walls of his apartment were but curtains, and his loud breathings made it necessary to rouse him.  This Mrs. Jocelyn accomplished with some difficulty, but did not mention the presence of Roger, fearing that in his half-wakened condition he might make some remark which would hurt the young man’s feelings.  She merely assisted him to arrange his disordered hair and dress, and then led the way to the supper-table he in the meantime protesting petulantly that he wished no supper, but would rather have slept.

As he emerged from the curtained doorway, Mildred’s eyes were fastened on Roger’s face, determined that nothing in its expression should escape her.  He at the moment was in the midst of a laughing reply to one of Belle’s funny speeches, but he stopped instantly and turned pale as his eyes rested on the visage of her father.  Had that face then changed so greatly?  Had disease made such havoc that this comparative stranger was aghast and could not conceal the truth that he was shocked?