As she felt the touch of my hand and heard the sound of my voice, I thought I saw a look of surprise, apprehension and hesitation in her eyes. If it was there it was gone in an instant, and she replied gaily: “Busy? How provoking of you to say so! You should never be too busy to take the commands of the ladies.” “That is why I am here,” I interrupted with my best bow. But she continued without noting it: “Luella wagered with me that you would make that excuse. I expected something more original.” “I am very sorry,” I said, with a reflection of the bantering air she had assumed. “Oh, indeed!” exclaimed the younger woman, to whom my eyes had turned as Mrs. Knapp spoke her name. “How very unkind of you to say so, when I have just won a pair of gloves by it. Good evening to you!” And she held out her hand. It was with a strong effort that I kept my self-possession, as for the first time I clasped the hand of Luella Knapp. Was it the thrill of her touch, the glance of her eye, or the magnetism of her presence, that set my pulses beating to a new measure, and gave my spirit a breath from a new world? Whatever the cause, as I looked into the clear-cut face and the frank gray eyes of the woman before me, I was swept by a flood of emotion that was near overpowering my self-control. Nor was it altogether the emotion of pleasure that was roused within me. As I looked into her eyes, I had the pain of seeing myself in a light that had not as yet come to me. I saw myself not the friend of Henry Wilton, on the high mission of bringing to justice the man who had foully sent him to death. In that flash I saw Giles Dudley hiding under a false name, entering this house to seek for another link in the chain that would drag this girl's father to the gallows and turn her life to bitterness and misery. And in the reflection from the clear depths of the face before me, I saw Imposter and Spy written large on my forehead. I mastered the emotion in a moment and took the seat to which she had waved me. I was puzzled a little at the tone in which she addressed me. There was a suggestion of resentment in her manner that grew on me as we talked. Can I describe her? Of what use to try? She was not beautiful, and “pretty” was too petty a word to apply to Luella Knapp. “Fine looking,” if said with the proper emphasis, might give some idea of her appearance, for she was tall in figure, with features that were impressive in their attractiveness. Yet her main charm was in the light that her spirit and intelligence threw on her face; and this no one can describe. The brightness of her speech did not disappoint the expectation I had thus formed of her. It was a finely-cultivated mind that was revealed to me, and it held a wit rare to woman. I followed her lead in the conversational channel, giving but a guiding oar when it turned toward acquaintances she held in common with Henry Wilton, or events that had interested them together.