The gentleman came forward, and conscious that her face was growing scarlet, Olive bowed slightly, and murmured something wherein no words were audible, but his name, and grew furiously angry with herself, because she had become confused at the sight of a gentleman, where she had expected to see only a youth. "Hoity-toity!" cried Mr. Congreve. "That will never do; call the boy Roger, Olive, and then we will go to supper." "The boy" smiled in a friendly fashion, and supposing that her confusion arose from the old gentleman's abrupt manner, he held out his hand. "Let us shake and be friendly, Cousin Olive, and it is a great wonder that he doesn't command a kiss of greeting, on the strength of our being cousins, more or less distantly removed." As he spoke, Olive looked up with a startled air, and unconscious that he was holding her hand, she looked straight at him for several moments. Where had she ever seen that face and heard that voice? "What's the matter?" cried Jean, for the memory was in some way painful to her, and reflected itself so in her face. "Nothing," exclaimed Olive, withdrawing her hand in mortified haste, and flushing scarlet again. "I thought perhaps you was getting ready to blow his head off," exclaimed Mr. Congreve, as if in relief. "That's something the way you looked at me, only not so ferocious, no! God bless my soul, no! I should have run if it had been; I should indeed. Now let's go to supper. Jeanie, come and help your old uncle along, and Roger, you take your Cousin Olive, and lead the way."