Afterwards they lingered on the piazza, talking and laughing, begging to see the manuscript, teasing Theodora about her secretiveness, and congratulating her again and again. It was an attractive group, Theodora in the midst, a tall, handsome girl in the full ripeness of her maidenly beauty, her arm linked in that of her twin brother, while pretty Hope stood facing them, with Archie at her side. Allyn came up to them as they stood there. "Take these, Teddy," he said, holding out his hand. "What are they, Allyn?" she asked, loosing Hubert's arm as she bent down over the child. "Clovers, four-leafed ones. They will bring you luck," he answered, with childish superstition. "How many you find, Allyn! I never see any," she said, taking the handful of green leaves. "Put them in your belt, and the first man you shake hands with, you'll marry," Phebe suggested pertly. "Not I. I'm doomed to old-maidhood," she said, laughing. "Give them to Hope, then," Phebe said, careless of Hope's blushes. "Never. They are mine. You gave them to me, didn't you, Allyn?" "Yes," the child said gravely. "You'd better keep them and put them in your belt. Hope doesn't need them as much as you do." In the midst of the laugh that followed, Theodora went away to her room to write the momentous letter which should accept the publisher's offer. It cost her some pains to write it, to attain the proper degree of indifference, equally removed from coldness and from childish eagerness. The clock beside her told that an hour had passed over her task, and a little heap of torn papers lay on the desk before her when the maid came to call her. "There's some one in the parlor to see you, Miss Theodora." "Who?" "He didn't tell me his name." "Bother take him!" Theodora remarked to herself. Then she added aloud, "Well, I'll be right down." It was characteristic of Theodora that she delayed to give no glance at the mirror. Just as she was, with her ruffled hair and in her simple pink morning gown, she ran down the stairway and entered the cool, dark parlor. As she crossed the threshold, the guest rose to greet her,--a guest with a tall, athletic figure, a sunburned face, keen blue eyes, and a mass of reddish golden hair. "Billy!" "Ted!" "Where did you come from?" "'The Ankworks package.'" "But really?" "I landed, yesterday afternoon. I was bound to give you a surprise, and I think I've made it out. Glad to see me?" "You dear old boy! Have you any doubts about it? How well you're looking, and how--how stunning!" "Ditto, ma'am. The years have agreed with you, I suspect." "Yes. And you? You've told so little about yourself. You do write horrid letters, Billy." "Your old frankness, I observe," he said mischievously. "I know it; but when I am longing to hear if you're well and all about you, you write reams of student gossip. I forgive you, though, now I see you, for you look better than I ever supposed you could."