Adele shrugged her fine shoulders. “Let's not waste any more time talking about him,” she said. “I was going to tell you how happy you made them all. When I read mother's description of their return home that night--how she went round looking at each object and touching it, that she might realize it was hers again; and how father sat up till past midnight talking incessantly about it; and all the droll things Uncle Abner said, I cried and laughed by turns. I longed to see you, to tell you how I felt about what you did, and yet, now that I'm with you, all I say seems utterly weak and--inadequate.” “It seems wonderfully nice to me,” Miller declared. “I don't deserve anything, and yet--well, I like to hear you talk.” He laughed. “Whether I deserve it or not, I could listen to you for a week on a stretch.” In truth, Rayburn Miller had never in all his varied social career become so suddenly and startlingly interested in any woman. It all seemed like a dream, and a most delicious one--the gay assemblage, the intermittent strains of the music, the touch of the stately creature on his arm, the perfume of her flowers, her hair, her eyes! He suddenly felt fearful of the passage of time, the leaving of his train, the approach of some one to claim her attention. He could not explain the spell she had thrown on him. Was it because she was his friend's sister, and so astoundingly pretty, frank, and sensible, or could it be that--? His train of thought was broken by the approach of Miss Ida Bishop, Adele's cousin, a rather plain girl, who, with her scrawny neck and scant hair--which rebelled against being made much of--would have appeared to better advantage in a street costume. “Oh, Adele,” she cried, reproachfully, “what _do_ you mean? Do you know you have mortally offended Mr. Tedcastle? He had the march with you.” “And I asked him as a favor to excuse me from it,” said Adele, simply. “I had just met Mr. Miller, who is to leave on an early train, and I wanted to talk to him about home. Have you been introduced? My cousin, Miss Bishop, Mr. Rayburn Miller.” Miss Bishop bowed indifferently, and looked as if she still saw no justification in the slight under question. “I'm awfully sorry,” she said, reprovingly. “Mr. Tedcastle has been as nice to you as he could be, and this is the way you show appreciation for it. I don't blame him for being mad, do you, Mr. Miller?” “I'm afraid I'd be a prejudiced witness,” he smiled, “benefiting as I am by the gentleman' s discomfiture; but, really, I can' t think that any circumstances could justify a man in pressing a lady to fill an engagement when she chooses not to do so for any reason of hers.” “I knew you'd say that,” said Adele. “If anybody has a right to be offended it is I, for the way he has acted without waiting for my full explanation.”