He was certain her eyes were sharply on him as he went, and when he returned, her full gaze swept him with a look in which he curiously read incredulity, with something beside that might have been fear or repulsion--he could not determine. She took the tea, but set it down untasted. A very queer old lady he thought her. He stood by in embarrassment, not knowing what to say. Glancing about for inspiration he was relieved to see Bartell bearing down upon him from the side of Mrs. Laithe. He came up jovially. "I've been ordered to separate you two, Kitty. Young men aren't plentiful at this time, and Eleanor wants one." "Thank you for bringing him, Chris." She gave Ewing a little nod, which he construed as his release, and he turned to meet Mrs. Laithe. She sought his eyes with that swift look of apprehension which had before puzzled him, and threw another glance toward Mrs. Lowndes, who now chatted smilingly with Bartell. She seemed to be reassured. "I do hope you've not been bored. No? I was afraid. Come and meet my sister," and she momentarily swept away his memories of the queer old lady by leading him to the girl in white who poured tea. "Virgie, this is Mr. Ewing." The girl looked up with that hint of shyness he had before observed in her. The eyes instantly recalled his own mountain lake when the light showed it to far, green depths. But they fell at once, for she inclined her head toward him, seized a cup and demanded sternly, "Cream or lemon--I mean I'm very glad to know you. Do you take sugar?" In his own embarrassment he would have told her, but Mrs. Laithe broke in with her low laugh. "He doesn't want tea, child, he only wants----" The girl interrupted defensively, with a flutter of eyelids toward Ewing: "I can't remember _what_ they like when they come back the second time. It's too much to expect." "Your martyrdom is over, dear. No one wants more tea, and most of them are escaping. Talk to Mr. Ewing while I speed them." The girl sank wearily into a chair, with a rueful glance at the table's disarray of cups and plates. "I'll dream about tea to-night." Her hands met disconsolately in her lap. "I suppose there was a lot of it," Ewing replied sympathetically. "Why do they do so many insane things here?" demanded the girl. "They're always at something. Town is tiresome." "But don't you live here?" "Dear no! I went to live with mamma's sister up in New Hampshire when I was small, after mamma died. There was no one here to raise me. And now that I'm raised they want me back, but I shy at things so--dad says I'm not city broke. I shall hold off another year before I get into this sort of thing--" She waved an ably disparaging hand toward the backs of several unsuspecting people who lingered. Then she looked up to meet his laugh and laughed prettily with him. The two had found common ground by some freemasonry of the shy.