In the afternoon of the following day she was engaged with her drawing, when a succession of quick raps at her door forced an impatient "Come in" from her lips. The door opened, and she rose involuntarily as the queenly form of Cornelia Graham stood before her. With a slow, stately tread she approached, and, extending her hand, said unconcernedly: "I have waived ceremony, you see, and come up to your room." "How are you?" said Beulah, as they shook hands and seated themselves. "Just as usual. How did you contrive to escape the plague?" "By resolving not to have it, I believe." "You have a wan, sickly look, I think." "So have you, I am sure. I hoped that you would come home strong and well." Beulah noted, with a feeling of compassion, the thin, hollow cheeks and sunken, yet burning, eyes before her. Cornelia bit her lip, and asked haughtily: "Who told you that I was not well?" "Your countenance would tell me, if I had never heard it from others," replied Beulah, with an instantaneous recollection of her guardian's warning. "Did you receive my note yesterday?" "Yes. I am obliged by your invitation, but cannot accept it." "So I supposed, and therefore came to make sure of you. You are too proud to come until all the family call upon you, eh?" "No; only people who consider themselves inferior are on the watch for slights, and scrupulously exact the minutest requirements of etiquette. On the plane of equality these barriers melt away." As Beulah spoke she looked steadily into the searching, black eyes, which seemed striving to read her soul. An expression of pleasure lighted the sallow face, and the haughty lines about the beautiful mouth melted into a half-smile. "Then you have not forgiven my rudeness during early schooldays?" "I had nothing to forgive. I had forgotten the affair until you spoke." "Then, why will you not come?" "For reasons which would not be removed by a recapitulation." "And you positively will not come?" "Not this evening. Another time I certainly will come with pleasure." "Say to-morrow, then." "To-morrow I shall be engaged." "Where? Excuse my pertinacity." "At Dr. Asbury's. I have promised to practice some duets with Helen." "Do you play well, Beulah? Are you a good musician?" "Yes." Cornelia mused a moment, and then said slowly, as if watching the effect of her question: "You have seen Eugene, of course?" "Yes." "He has changed very much in his appearance, has he not?" "More than I was prepared to expect." "He is to be a merchant, like my father." "So he wrote me." "You endeavored to dissuade him from complying with my father's wishes, did you not?" "Yes; most earnestly," answered Beulah gravely. "Beulah Benton, I like you! You are honest indeed. At last I find one who is." With a sudden impulse she laid her white, jeweled hand on Beulah's. "Is honesty, or, rather, candor, so very rare, Cornelia?"