I heard her, but did not answer at once. In fact, I was thinking how to proceed. Should I take her into my confidence, or should I continue in the ambiguous manner in which I had begun. Seeing her smile, I became conscious of the awkward silence. "Pardon me," said I, resuming my best manner, "but there is something I want to say which may strike you as peculiar." "O no," said she. "I _am_ interested in the girl you have befriended, and for very different reasons from those you suppose. I fear--I have great reason to fear--that she is not just the person you would like to harbor under your roof." "Indeed! Why, what do you know about her? Anything bad, Miss Butterworth?" I shook my head, and prayed her first to tell me how the girl looked and under what circumstances she came to her; for I was desirous of making no mistake concerning her identity with the person of whom I was in search. "She is a sweet-looking girl," was the answer I received; "not beautiful, but interesting in expression and manner. She has brown hair,"--I shuddered,--"brown eyes, and a mouth that would be lovely if it ever smiled. In fact, she is very attractive and so lady-like that I have desired to make a companion of her. But while attentive to all her duties, and manifestly grateful to me for the home I have given her, she shows so little desire for company or conversation that I have desisted for the last day or so from urging her to speak at all. But you asked me under what circumstances she came to me?" "Yes, on what day, and at what time of day? Was she dressed well, or did her clothes look shabby?" "She came on the very day I advertised; the eighteenth--yes, it was the eighteenth of this month; and she was dressed, so far as I noticed, very neatly. Indeed, her clothes appeared to be new. They needed to have been, for she brought nothing with her save what was contained in a small hand-bag." "Also new?" I suggested. "Very likely; I did not observe." "O Miss Althorpe!" I exclaimed, this time with considerable vehemence, "I fear, or rather I hope, she is the woman I want." "_You_ want!" "Yes, _I_; but I cannot tell you for what just yet. I must be sure, for I would not subject an innocent person to suspicion any more than you would." "Suspicion! She is not honest, then? That would worry me, Miss Butterworth, for the house is full now, as you know, of wedding presents, and--But I cannot believe such a thing of _her_. It is some other fault she has, less despicable and degrading." "I do not say she has any faults; I only said I feared. What name does she go by?" "Oliver; Ruth Oliver." Again I thought of the O. R. on the clothes at the laundry. "I wish I could see her," I ventured. "I would give anything for a peep at her face unobserved."