Every movement, as well as every detail of her traveling dress, impressed him with a sense of her refinement and culture. He noticed that she was all in black. A thin veil drawn over her face partially concealed its delicate pallor; but her soft, light hair, drawn up under the little black hat she wore, seemed sunnier than ever by contrast. "Isn't she beautiful?" sighed David's talkative neighbor. "I used to wish I could change places with her, especially the year when she went abroad to study art; but I wouldn't now for anything in the world." "Why?" asked her companion again, and David mentally echoed her interrogation. "O, because her father is dead now, and everything is so different. Something happened to their property, so there's nothing left but the old home. Then her little brother had such a dreadful fall just after the Judge's death. They thought he would die, too, or be a cripple all his life; but I believe he's better now. He is sort of paralyzed, so he has to stay in a wheel-chair; but the doctor says he is gradually getting over that, and will be all right after awhile. It's a very peculiar case, I've heard. There have only been a few like it. She is studying stenography now, so that she can keep on living in the old home and take care of little Jack." "Do you know her?" interrupted the interested listener. "No, not very well. I've always seen her in Church; you know Judge Hallam was one of our best paying members, and rarely missed a Sabbath morning service. But they were very exclusive socially. My easel stood next to hers in the art conservatory one term, and we talked about our work sometimes. She used to remind me of Sir Christopher in 'Tales of a Wayside Inn.' Don't you remember? She had that 'Way of saying things That made one think of courts and kings, And lords and ladies of high degree, So that not having been at court Seemed something very little short Of treason or lese-majesty, Such an accomplished knight was he.'" Both girls laughed, and then the lively chatter was drowned by the jarring rumble of the train as it puffed slowly out of the depot. "Any one would know this is a Methodist crowd," said Mrs. Marion laughingly, as a dozen happy young voices began to sing an old revival hymn, and it was caught up all over the car. "That reminds me," said her husband, reaching into his coat pocket, "I have something here that will prevent any mistake if doubt should arise." He drew out a little box of ribbon badges and a paper of pins. "Here," he said, "put one on, Ray; we must all show our colors this week. You, too, Bethany." "O no, Cousin Frank," she protested. "I am not a member of the League." "That makes no difference," he answered, in his hearty, persistent way. "You ought to be one, and you will be by the time you get back from this conference."