“I don't,” returned Ruth, colouring faintly. “Why; are you afraid of him?” “Certainly I am. If he speaks to me, I'm instantly stiff with terror.” “Oh, he isn't so bad,” said Winfield, reassuringly, “He's naturally abrupt, that's all; and I'll venture he doesn't suspect that he has any influence over you. I'd never fancy that you were afraid of anybody or anything on earth.” “I'm not afraid of anything else,” she answered, “except burglars and green worms.” “Carlton would enjoy the classification--really, Miss Thorne, somebody should tell him, don't you think? So much innocent pleasure doesn't often come into the day of a busy man.” For a moment Ruth was angry, and then, all at once, she knew Winfield as if he had always been her friend. Conventionality, years, and the veneer of society were lightly laid upon one who would always be a boy. Some men are old at twenty, but Winfield would be young at seventy. “You can tell him if you want to,” Ruth rejoined, calmly. “He'll be so pleased that he'll double your salary on the spot.” “And you?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with fun. “I'll be pensioned, of course.” “You're all right,” he returned, “but I guess I won't tell him. Riches lead to temptation, and if I'm going to be on The Tribune I'd hate to have you pensioned.” Hepsey appeared to have a great deal of employment in the dining-room, and was very quiet about it, with long pauses between her leisurely movements. Winfield did not seem to notice it, but it jarred upon Ruth, and she was relieved when he said he must go. “You'll come again, won't you?” she asked. “I will, indeed.” She stood at the window, unconsciously watching him as he went down the hill with a long, free stride. She liked the strength in his broad shoulders, his well modulated voice, and his clear, honest eyes; but after all he was nothing but a boy. “Miss Thorne,” said Hepsey, at her elbow, “is that your beau?” It was not impertinence, but sheer friendly interest which could not be mistaken for anything else. “No,” she answered; “of course not.” “He's real nice-lookin', ain't he? “Yes.” “Have you got your eye on anybody else?” “No.” “Then, Miss Thorne, I don't know's you could do better.” “Perhaps not.” She was thinking, and spoke mechanically. From where she stood she could still see him walking rapidly down the hill. “Ain't you never seen him before?” Miss Thorne turned. “Hepsey,” she said, coldly, “please go into the kitchen and attend to your work. And the next time I have company, please stay in the kitchen--not in the dining-room.” “Yes'm,” replied Hepsey, meekly, hastening to obey.