While thus musing the dressing-bell rang, and turning from the window she began to dress for dinner with more interest than usual. Her salary would not allow a very extensive or expensive wardrobe, even if she had desired it, which she did not. Her taste was simple, and she was one of the few to whom every color and style is becoming. Whatever she wore looked well upon her, and in a little country town she would undoubtedly have set the fashion for all. Selecting now from her wardrobe a soft, fleecy, gray tissue, with trimmings of pale blue, her favorite color, she tied about her throat a bit of rich lace which Mrs. Sinclair had given her, and wore the pretty set of pink coral, also that lady’s gift. It was not often that she curled her hair, but to-day she let two heavy ringlets fall upon her neck, and knew herself how well she was looking, when, at the ringing of the second bell, she descended to the hall where Godfrey was waiting for her. He had thought her very handsome in her morning wrapper and garden hat, and when he saw her now he gave a suppressed kind of whistle, and with as much freedom as if she had been Alice Creighton, or one of his sisters, said to her, “Ain’t you nobby, though!” It is doubtful if Edith knew just what _nobby_ meant, but she set it down as an Americanism, and knew she was complimented. “Allow me,” Godfrey said, and offering her his arm, he conducted her to the dining-room, where his aunt and father were already assembled. CHAPTER X. COLONEL SCHUYLER. He looked up in some surprise when he saw the couple come in, and the scowl between the eyes, of which Godfrey had spoken, was plainly perceptible. “My son is getting very familiar with that girl,” was his thought; but he was very polite to Edith, who sat near to him, and during the dinner he occasionally addressed some remark to her, while his eyes wandered often to her face with a questioning look, which brought a bright color to her cheek, and made her wonder if he was thinking of the young girl who had looked at him from among the vine leaves and told him Abelard’s name. He was not thinking of her; he was only speculating upon the rare beauty of the face beside him, and trying vaguely to recall where he had seen one like it. “In some picture gallery; a fancy piece, I think,” was his conclusion, as with a growing interest in Edith he resolved to question his sister concerning her at the first opportunity.