Within the perimeter of a great semi-circle window in a large luxuriously furnished room of a fashionable residence not far from 6666 Hill, in the city of Portland, two women sat reading. It was an autumn afternoon, just after a light shower, a little warm but rarely matched for the unusual splendor of its soft, dreamy atmosphere--calm and clear as infinite space. The incessant roar of the city's commerce floated up and through the screened windows in muffled echoes, but the readers being accustomed to the sound, were undisturbed. At length one of the readers, a girl who had not seen more than twenty summers, closed the book she had just finished reading and broke the silence with the remark: "Most interesting! A great story!" "Yes," exclaimed her companion, looking up, "particularly in its treatment of the bogus Count. Indeed, it is realistic enough to be true." "So it appears!" replied the maid, "but just imagine such a thing to happen--as for instance a tramp to impersonate successfully Lord Beauchamp!" "My Lord is a gentleman 'to the manor born,' and impossible of counterfeit." "I understand the reception by Mrs. Harris is to be given in his honor?" "Yes," replied Mrs. Thorpe, and smiling she went on: "He has promised to take tea with us today." "And do you know," said Hazel in an awed tone, "he's a Knight of the Order of the Garter? It is reported that he is to be married to a beautiful San Francisco girl." "I have heard it mentioned, but I hardly think his Lordship seeks a wife in America, because he is very wealthy." "But, Constance,--love is sometimes eccentric!" "Quite true, when its underlying motive is mercenary. You remember Philip Rutley." "Constance!" exclaimed the girl, with a stamp of her foot. "You know the wise proverb, 'Let sleeping dogs lie.'" It was then that Philip Rutley, impersonating Lord Beauchamp, was ushered in, accompanied by Mr. Joseph Corway. "Ah! My Lord," greeted Constance arising from her seat. "This delightful corner has lured us to forget to welcome you at the portal of our home. Allow me the pleasure of introducing Miss Hazel Brooke, and you, Mr. Corway,--well you know we are always 'at home' to you." As Rutley deliberately placed a monocle to his eye, he said, "A corner with such an entrancing vista," carelessly waving his hand toward the open, "is a pardonable lure to dreamy forgetfulness." Then he stared at the girl and, as he supposed, conveyed the desired impression, muttered: "Charming!" and that word, uttered with quiet and apparently involuntary emphasis, at once made Hazel Brooke his friend, and, to add to the favorable impression which Rutley perceived he had created, he bowed low and said suavely: "Miss Brooke will permit me to say, I rejoice in her acquaintance." "Your Lordship may find me a deceiver." "I shall not believe so winsome a flower can be unreal." And he again fixed the monocle to his eye and stared at her in pleased assurance.