“Younger, of course,--years younger. He’s not quite thirty.” “Is he a bachelor or a widower?” “A bachelor, of course. Fancy Louis being a widower! He stands on the high vantage-ground of lofty impregnability. He is not in love, and he would fain have it believed he never has been, or at least only in a careless and off-hand manner. Not that he avoids women. On the contrary, he goes into society, and enjoys it very much when he has time, which is not very often.” “Do you mean that he works out of office hours?” “He has no particular office hours, and he works at all times, early and late. His partner lives in New York and he is there a great deal, and there most of the work is done; but he is always drawing plans and making estimates here at home, and has a branch office down the street. Sometimes he works in his room, and sometimes I persuade him to bring his designs down into the library, when there seems a likelihood of our having a quiet evening. I pretend I’m interested in them, to please him,--he does a great deal to please me; but I’m not so, really.” “They must be interesting to him, at any rate, to absorb him so completely.” “I should think so! Why, I’ve known Louis, when there was a stress of work, to sit up the entire night, and then take a cold bath and come down to breakfast perfectly fresh, and be ready afterward to go off down town and be at it again until night. It’s enough to make one yawn to think of it.” Mrs. Gaston, suiting the action to the word, was settling herself more comfortably among the pillows, and so failed to observe the look of eager interest her words had called up in her companion’s face. She had just arranged her position to her satisfaction, and turned to continue the conversation, when a quick step was heard ascending the staircase. “That’s Louis’ step,” she said suddenly. “Close the door, please; he will probably stop to speak to me.” Margaret obeyed in silence, and the next moment the footsteps stopped at the door, and a very pleasantly modulated voice said: “Any admittance to a repentant renegade, who comes to make his peace?” “No,” said Mrs. Gaston, quietly; “I’m not well--worse than usual, indeed--used up with recent exertions and in no mood to show clemency to offenders.” “And pray, in what have the recent exertions consisted?” the voice replied. “Oh, the usual round of wearing domestic affairs, with a new item added.” “Ahem!” exclaimed the voice; “it would seem the young Southerner has arrived. Is it so?” “Yes,” said Mrs. Gaston, dryly, “she has.” “If I were not too generous, I should say, ‘I told you so,’” went on the voice. “I have observed that Southern importations into Northern climates are usually attended with certain disadvantages.” “Oh, she’s a very nice little thing,” said Mrs. Gaston, carelessly, “I think something can be made of her.”