“Excuse me,” she murmured, and vanished. He heard her running up the stairs, then not another sound for a long time. He sat still, with his glass in his hand, and waited. She didn’t run down; she came slowly, with obvious reluctance. “I’m very sorry,” she said, “but--Mrs. Defoe wants to know--if you’d be good enough to--wait just a _little_ longer----” She was very much distressed; said something about preserves and next week and the expensiveness of jelly glasses. Mr. Petersen’s face turned still redder. “Pshaw!” he said, awkwardly, “It doesn’t matter to _me_. I can wait any length of time. Don’t worry. Tell Mrs. Defoe not to worry. I--perhaps she will send a message when she’s ready----” “_Positively_ next Tuesday,” said Minnie, firmly. “And I’m _dreadfully_ sorry, Mr. Petersen. I appreciate your kindness.” She held out a small plump hand which he grasped earnestly. “But just the same, who is she?” he asked himself as he rode away. III He went home to his house on a shady street of the village, and strolled into the kitchen where his housekeeper was cooking a rabbit. “Mrs. Hansen,” he said, “who’s that up at Mrs. Defoe’s?” Of course she knew. “Her granddaughter, Mr. Petersen. Two of them,” she answered, eagerly, delighted at being questioned. “They came from New York a week ago. Two young orphans. Just lost their father. He was thought to be rich, but it seems he wasn’t. He didn’t leave them a penny. And they’ve been brought up to expect the best of everything, so I’ve heard. It’s sad, isn’t it, Mr. Petersen?” He thought it was; the phrase “two young orphans” stuck in his mind, and while he walked about his garden, inspecting his trees and vegetables, he reflected on it. “Young orphans.” He remembered that she had been wearing a black dress, and that the ribbons in her little apron had been black. And there had been a sobriety in her bearing.... Mrs. Hansen wished to pursue the subject. She began when she had put his excellent dinner on the table. “Excuse me, Mr. Petersen,” she said--he wouldn’t allow “sir”--“But which of the young ladies did you see? I hear that one of them is very handsome.” He reflected. No, Minnie was not very handsome; _nice_ looking, and with fine dark eyes, but not handsome. He smiled a little. “It’s hard to say. I’m not a judge, Mrs. Hansen. The one I saw was dark----” “They’re both dark. But one’s----” “This rabbit stew is very good, Mrs. Hansen,” he interposed, and she took the hint and left him to read the local paper in peace, as was his custom during dinner. Afterwards he went out to sit on his little porch and smoke. And thought very kindly of the “young orphan,” who hadn’t a penny. The least he could do, he decided, was not to trouble them about the rent--a decision which suited them, apparently, for he neither saw nor heard anything of the Defoe family for a long time. In fact, until he was needed by one of them. CHAPTER TWO I