His expectation was not doomed to disappointment. The voice sounded on the stairs, in the hall, and a moment afterward the door opened and Stella stood looking smilingly into the room. If he had thought her beautiful and winsome on that first evening of her coming, when she was weary with anxiety and traveling, and dressed in dust-stained clothes, be sure he thought her more beautiful still, now that the light heart felt free to reveal itself, and the shabby dress had given place to the white and simple but still graceful morning gown. Mrs. Penfold had worked hard during those three days, and with the aid of the Dulverfield milliner had succeeded in filling a small wardrobe for "her young lady," as she had learned to call her. The old artist, ignorant of the power of women in such direction, had watched the transformation with inward amazement and delight, and was never tired of hearing about dresses, and hats, jackets, and capes, and was rather disappointed than otherwise when he found that the grand transformation had been effected at a very small cost. Bright and beautiful she stood, like a vision of youth and health in the doorway, her dark eyes laughingly contemplating the old man's gentle stare of wonder,--the look which always came into his eyes when she appeared. "Did I disturb you by my piping, uncle?" she asked as she kissed him. "Oh no, my dear," he answered, "I like to hear you,--I like to hear you." She leant against his shoulder, and looked at his work. "How beautiful it is!" she murmured. "How quickly it grows. I heard you come down this morning, and I meant to get up, but I was so tired--lazy, wasn't I?" "No, no!" he said, eagerly. "I am sorry I disturbed you. I came down as quietly as I could. I knew you would be tired after your dissipation. You must tell me all about it." "Yes, come to breakfast and I will tell you." "Must I?" he said, glancing at his picture reluctantly. He had been in the habit of eating his breakfast by installments, painting while he ate a mouthful and drank his cup of coffee, but Stella insisted upon his changing what she called a very wicked habit. "Yes, of course! See how nice it looks," and she drew him gently to the table and forced him into a chair. The old man submitted with a sigh that was not altogether one of regret, and still humming she sat opposite the urn and began to fill the cups. "And did you enjoy yourself?" he asked, gazing at her dreamily. "Oh, very much; they were so kind. Mrs. Hamilton is the dearest old lady; and the doctor--what makes him smile so much, uncle?" "I don't know. I think doctors generally do."