“Oh, that one,” said Burton, trying to think, “I know as well as I know anything, but her name has slipped my memory. Why, she's visiting the Bishops on Peachtree Street--a Miss Bishop, that's it.” “Adele, little Adele? Impossible!” cried Rayburn, “and I've been thinking of her as a child all these years.” “So you know her?” said Captain Burton. “Her brother is a chum of mine,” explained Miller. “I haven't seen her since she went to Virginia to school, five years ago. I never would have recognized her in the world. My Lord! she's simply regal.” “I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her,” said the Captain; “but I've heard lots about her from the boys who go to Bishop's. They say she's remarkably clever--recites, you know, and takes off the plantation negro to perfection. She's a great favorite with Major Middleton, who doesn't often take to the frying size. She has been a big drawing card out at Bishop's ever since she came. The boys say the house overflows every evening. Are you going to speak to her?” “If I get a good chance,” said Rayburn, his eyes on the couple as they disappeared in the ballroom. “I don't like to go in looking like this, but she'd want to hear from home.” “Oh, I see,” said Burton. “Well, you'd better try it before the grand march sweeps everything before it.” As Miller entered the ballroom, Penrose was giving Adele a seat behind a cluster of palms, near the grand piano, around which the German orchestra was grouped. He went straight to her. “You won't remember me, Miss Adele,” he said, with a smile, “but I'm going to risk speaking to you, anyway.” She looked up from the bunch of flowers in her lap, and, in a startled, eager sort of way, began to study his face. “No, I do not,” she said, flushing a little, and yet smiling agreeably. “Well, I call that a good joke,” Penrose broke in, with a laugh, as he greeted Miller with a familiar slap on the shoulder. “Why, Rayburn, on my word, she hasn't talked of anybody else for the last week, and here she--” “You are _not_ Rayburn Miller!” Adele exclaimed, and she stood up to give him her hand. “Yes, I have been talking of you, and it seems to me I have a thousand things to say, and oh, so many thanks!” There was something in this impulsive greeting that gave Miller a delectable thrill all over. “You were such a little thing the last time I saw you,” he said, almost tenderly. “I declare, you have changed--so, so remarkably.” She nodded to Penrose, who was excusing himself, and then she said to Miller, “Are you going to dance to-night?” He explained that he was obliged to take the train which left in a few minutes. He saw her face actually fall with disappointment. The very genuineness of the expression pleased him inexplicably. “Then I must hurry,” she said. “Would you mind talking to me a little while?” “Nothing could possibly please me so much,” said he. “Suppose we stroll around?” She took his arm and he led her back to the rotunda overlooking the office.