"All the time," she said, "he isn't out of my thoughts for a second. Not his face, I mean, or his awkward-looking body, but the real. Do you remember, Evie, how embarrassed I used to make him sometimes, and how he'd rub his chin with the back of his hand? I always knew when Ambrose was troubled. And how he used to sit on my bed and listen so seriously to all my wails and whines?" Evie looked for some evidence of emotion, but Christina's eyes were dry--she appeared to be happy. "Yes--Chris, do you think I ought to take these stockings back to the store? They laddered the first time I put them on and I paid a terrible price for them." Christina took the stockings from the girl and there all talk of Ambrose Sault came to an end. A few afternoons later, returning from her early walk, she was met at the door by her agitated mother. "There's a gentleman called to see you, Christina, he's in the kitchen." "A gentleman?" "A gentleman" might mean anything by Mrs. Colebrook's elastic description. "He's a friend of Miss Merville's named Mr. Morelle." "What?" Christina could hardly believe her ears. Ronnie Morelle? Had Evie conveyed her joking request to him? Even if she had, it was not likely he would call for the pleasure of seeing her. Mrs. Colebrook hustled her into the kitchen and closed the door on them. She had all the respect of her class for the sanctity of private conversation. Ronnie was sitting in the chair where Ambrose had so often sat, as Mrs. Colebrook reminded her at least three times a day. He rose as she entered and stood surveying her. It was the first time she had seen him close at hand, and her first impression was one of admiration. She had never met so good-looking a man and instantly she absolved Evie for her infatuation. He did not offer his hand at first, and it was not until she was about to speak that it came out to her shyly. It was a strong hand and the warmth of the grip surprised her. "Christina!" he said softly and she felt herself go red. "That is my name. You are Ronnie Morelle? I have heard a great deal about you from Evie." "From Evie?--yes, why of course! Your mother is looking well. She works very hard--too hard I think. Women ought not to do such heavy work." She sat, tongue-tied, could only point to the chair from which he had risen. "I had to come to see you--but I have been rather occupied and selfish. I have been reading a great deal--a sheer delight. You will understand that? And poor François has had a lot of trouble, his brother developed appendicitis. We have had an anxious time." Ronnie Morelle! And he was talking gravely of the anxious time he had had because the brother of his servant--it was incredible. She never dreamed that he was this kind of man; all her preconceived ideas and more than half of her prejudice against him, were swept away in a second. He was sincere; she knew it. Absolutely sincere. This was no pose of his.