"I might leave a card at the door," he thought to himself, "and tell the girl that my room-mate was desperately ill--that I had just run in for a moment because I wanted them to know, to know--to know what?" The idea expired noiselessly. He likewise rejected the idea of stalking the door Indian fashion, and slipping the card under the crack as if he had rung and not been heard. "After all, they might be out," he thought at last, hopefully. "I'll just go by quietly and see if I can hear anything." But at the moment when he came abreast the steps a carriage drove up, the door opened, and Judge Story and his wife came down. Stover came to a balky stop, hastily snatching away his derby. "Why, bless me if it isn't Mr. Stover," said the Judge instantly. "Dressed to kill, too. Never expected to see you until I went around myself, with an injunction. How did you screw up your courage?" Mrs. Story came to his rescue, smiling a little at his tell-tale face. "Don't stop on my account," said Stover, very much embarrassed. "It's a beautiful day for a ride, beautiful." "Oh, you are not going to get off as easily as that," said the Judge, delighted. "My daughter Jean is inside watching you from behind the curtains. Go right up and entertain her with some side-splitting stories. Besides, Miss Kelly is there with some important top-heavy junior who thinks he's making an awful hit with her. Go in and steal her right away from him." The maid stood at the open door. There was nothing to do but to toil up the penal steps, heart in mouth. "Is Miss Story in?" he said in a lugubrious voice. "Will you present her with this card?" "Step right into the parlor, sah. You'll find Miss Jean there," said the colored maid, with no feeling at all for his suffering. He caught a fleeting, unreassuring glimpse of himself in a dark mirror, successfully negotiated the sliding rugs, and all at once found himself somehow in the cheery parlor alone with Miss Story, shaking hands. "Miss Kelly is here?" he said, perfunctorily stalking to a chair. "No, indeed." "Why your father said--" "That was only his way--he's a dreadful tease." Stover drew a more quiet breath, and even relaxed into a smile. "He had me all primed up for a junior, at least." "Isn't Dad dreadful! That's why you came in with such overpowering dignity?" Stover laughed, a little pleased that his entrance could be so described, and, shifting to a less painfully contracted position, sought anxiously for some brilliant opening that would make the conversation a distinguished success.