“So you are Rayburn Miller!” she said, looking at him wonderingly. “Do you know, I have pictured you in my mind many times since mother wrote me all about how you rescued us from ruin. Oh, Mr. Miller, I could not in a thousand years tell you how my heart filled with gratitude to you. My mother goes into the smallest details in her letters, and she described your every word and action during that transaction in your office. I could tell just where her eyes filled and her throat choked up by her quivering handwriting. I declare, I looked on you as a sort of king with unlimited power. If I were a man I'd rather use my brain to help suffering people than to be made President of the United States and be a mere figure-head. You must not think I am spoiled by all this glitter and parade down here. The truth is, I heartily despise it. I wanted to be at home so bad when I got that letter that I cried myself to sleep.” “You must not forget that your brother conceived the plan,” Miller protested, “and that I only--” “Oh yes; I know Alan thought of it,” she interrupted, “but without your experience and firmness it would have remained in his dear old brain till the Lord knows when. The idea of their being in debt was slowly killing my father and mother, and you came to their relief just when they were unable to bear it any longer. I'm so glad you thought of borrowing that money.” Just then a young man, half a head shorter than Adele, came up hurriedly. “Oh, here you are,” he exclaimed, in a gasp of relief. “I've been looking for you everywhere. This is mine, you know--the grand march. They are all ready.” Adele smiled pleasantly. “I hope you 'll excuse me from it, Mr. Tedcastle,” she said. “I've just met a friend from home; I want to talk with him, and--” “But, Miss Bishop, I--” “I asked you to please excuse me, Mr. Tedcastle.” Miller saw her face harden, as if from the sneer of contempt that passed over it. “I hope it will not be necessary for me to explain my reasons in detail until I have a little more time at my disposal.” “Oh, certainly not, Miss Bishop,” said the young man, red with anger, as he bowed himself away. “What's society coming to?” Adele asked Miller, with a nervous little laugh. “Does a lady have to get down on her knees and beg men, little jumping-jacks, like that one, to excuse her, and pet them into a good-humor when she has good reason to change her mind about an engagement? That's a sort of slavery I don't intend to enter.” “You served him right,” said Miller, who had himself resented the young man's childish impetuosity, and felt like slapping him for his impertinence.