“Our friendship dates back to when we were children and I spent a summer with my Aunt Marilla teasing Mary, and letting the sawdust out of her dolls.” He gave a daring glance at Mary, and found the twinkles in her eyes playing with the dimples at the corner of her mouth; and his fingers clung more warmly around hers. The two were so absorbedly interested in this little comedy they were enacting that they had quite failed to notice its effect upon the audience. Elinore Harrower had gathered her fur robes about her, and was fastening them proudly at her throat. Her dark eyes were two points of steel, and the little white teeth that bit into the pouting crimson under lip looked vicious and suggestive. “I did not understand,” said Elinore haughtily. “I thought you were among strangers, and needed some one. I will leave you to your friends. You always did like simple country ways, I remember;” and she cast a withering glance around. “Why, where is Aunt Rilla, Mary?” asked Lyman, innocently ignoring the sneer of his guest. “Aunt Marilla!” he raised his voice, looking toward the door. “Aunt Marilla, won’t you please come here?” Miss Marilla, her heart a perfect tumult of joy to hear him call her that way, straightened up from her ambush outside the door, and entered precipitately, just as the haughty guest was about to stalk from the room, if one so small and exquisite as Elinore can be said to stalk. The result was a collision that quite spoiled the effect of the exit, and the two ladies looked at each other for a brief instant much as two cats might have done under similar circumstances. Mary Amber’s eyes were dancing, and Lyman Gage wanted to laugh, but he controlled his voice. “Aunt Marilla, this is Miss Harrower, a girl who used to be an old friend of mine, and she thinks she can’t stay any longer. Would you mind taking her down to the door? Good-by, Elinore. Congratulations! And I hope you’ll be very happy!” He held out his free hand--the other still held Mary Amber’s, and the smile upon his lips was full of merriment. But Elinore Harrower ignored the hand and the congratulations; and, drawing her fur mantle once more about her small haughty shoulders, she sailed from the room, her coral and silver toque held high, and her little red mouth drooping with scorn and defeat. Miss Marilla, all hospitality now that she understood, offered tea and cake, but was vouchsafed no answer whatever; and so in joyous, wondering silence she attended her soldier’s guest to the door.