"Did she go to see Miss Ramsey?" demanded Nevins and Ardly in a breath. Mr. Paul shook his head. "I do not know her motive," he said, "but she has taken Miss Ramsey away. For three days we have had no news of her." The knocker fell with a decisive sound. Nevins rose, went to the door, and opened it. Then he started back before the apparition of Mariana. She was standing near the threshold, her hand raised as when the knocker had fallen, her head bent slightly forward. With an impulsive gesture she held out her gloved hands, her eyes shining. "Oh, I am so glad!" she said. Nevins took her hands in his and held them while he looked at her. She was older and graver and changed in some vital way, as if the years or sorrow had mellowed the temperament of her youth. There was a deeper thrill to her voice, a softer light in her eyes, and a gentler curve to her mouth, and over all, in voice and eyes and mouth, there was the shadow of discontent. She wore a coat of green velvet, with ruffles of white showing at the loosened front, where a bunch of violets was knotted, and over the brim of her hat a plume fell against the aureole of her hair. "I am so glad," she repeated. Then she turned to Ardly with the same fervent pressure of the hands. "It is too good to be true," she went on. "It is like dropping back into girlhood. Why, there is dear Mr. Paul!" Mr. Paul rose and accepted the proffered hands. "You have fattened, madam," he remarked, with a vague idea that she had in some way connected herself with a title. Mariana's old laugh pealed out. "Why, he is just as he used to be," she said, glancing brightly from Ardly to Nevins in pursuit of sympathy. "He hasn't changed a bit." "The changes of eight years," returned Mr. Paul, "are not to be detected by a glance." Mariana nodded smilingly and turned to Nevins. "Now let me look at _you_," she said. "Come under the light. Ah! you haven't been dining at The Gotham." "Took my last dinner there exactly six years ago next Thanksgiving Day," answered Nevins, cheerfully. "Turkey and pumpkin-pie." She turned her eyes critically on Ardly. "Well, he has survived his sentiment for me," she said. Ardly protested. "I don't keep that in the heart I wear on my sleeve," he returned. "You would need a plummet to sound the depths, I fancy." Mariana blushed and laughed, the faint color warming the opaline pallor of her face. Then she glanced about the room. "So this is the studio," she exclaimed, eagerly--"the studio we so often planned together--and there is the divan I begged for! Ah, and the dear adorable 'Antinous.' But what queer stuff for hangings!" "If you had sent me word that you were coming," returned Nevins, apologetically, passing his hands over his hair in an endeavor to make it lie flat, "I'd have put the place to rights, and myself too."