Friend Ruth hesitated, but the father waved a command to his daughter. Frowning, she arose to obey. She felt the whole thing was a subterfuge to get her from the room while the real object of her father’s unexpected visit was divulged. She led the way through the wide hall, out to the pillared veranda, and down the sloping lawn to the bluff which overlooked the river, where plied a steamer on its silver course. Apathetically she pointed out the places of interest. She scarcely heard her companion’s eager attempts at conversation. He noted the absent look in her dark eyes. "You do not like it here?" he asked, letting his tone become gentle, in coaxing confidence. "Oh, yes," she answered quickly, with a flit of trouble across her face. "At least, I think I do. I do not care to go away." "Not to your beautiful home?" he asked insinuatingly. "And your mother?" he added, his eyes narrowing to observe her expression more closely. "She is not my mother," answered the girl coldly, and became at once reserved, as if she were sorry for having spoken so plainly. "Oh, I beg your pardon! I did not know," murmured the stranger, making mental note of her change of expression. Suddenly her eyes flashed wide upon him, and she dashed a question out with a way that compelled an answer: "Has my father come to take me home, do you know?" "Oh, no, not at all," answered the young man suavely. He was delighted to have found this key to her thoughts. It led just where he desired. "We are merely taking a business trip together, and your father stopped off to see how things were going with you. I am sure I am delighted that he did, for it has given me great pleasure to meet you." "Why?" asked the girl, lifting relieved eyes to his face in mild astonishment. He gave a half-embarrassed laugh at this frank way of meeting him. "Now, surely, you do not need to ask me that," he said, looking down at her meaningly, his eyes gazing into the innocent ones in open and intimate admiration. "You must know how beautiful you are!" With a startled expression, she searched his face, and then, not finding it pleasant, turned away with a look resembling her father in its sternness. "I don’t think that is a nice way for a man to talk to a girl," she said in a displeased tone. "I am too big to be spoken to in that way. I am past sixteen, and shall be done school next year." He dropped the offending manner at once, and begged her pardon, pleading that her father had talked of her as a child. He asked also that she would let him be her friend, for he felt that they would be congenial, and all the more that she was growing into womanhood. Her gravity did not relax, however, and her eyes searched his face suspiciously. "I think we would better go into the house," she said soberly. "Friend Ruth will not like my staying out so long, and I must see my father again." "But will you be my friend?" he insisted, as they turned their steps toward the house.