"Yes, he was," and Judithe gave a little sigh ending in a smile; "but one can't keep forever all the fine fellows one meets, and when they are so admirable in every way as Dumaresque, it seems selfish for one woman to capture them." Mrs. McVeigh shook her head hopelessly over such an argument, but broke a tiny spray of blossom from a plant and fastened it in the lapel of Judithe's habit. "It is not so gorgeous as the rose, but it is at least free from the pests." Judithe looked down at the blossom admiringly. "I trust Mr. Loring will forgive my panic--I fear it annoyed him." "Oh, no--not really. He is a trifle eccentric, but his invalidism gains him many excuses. There is no doubt but that you made a decided impression on him." "I hope so," said Judithe. Margeret entered the room just then, and with her hand on the door paused and stared at the stranger who was facing her. Judithe, glancing up, saw a pair of strange dark eyes regarding her. She noticed how wraith-like the woman appeared, and how the brown dress she wore made the sallow face yet more sallow. A narrow collar and cuffs of white, and the apron, were the only sharp tones in the picture; all the rest was brown--brown hair tinged with grey rippling back from the broad forehead, brown eyes with a world of patience and sadness in them and slender, sallow-looking hands against the white apron. She looked like none of the house servants at the Terrace--in fact Judithe was a trifle puzzled as to whether she was a servant at all. She had not a feature suggesting colored blood, was much more Caucasian in appearance than Louise. It was but a few seconds they stood looking at each other, when Margeret made a slight little inclination of her head and a movement of the lips that might have been an apology, but in that moment the strange woman's face fairly photographed itself on Judithe's mind--the melancholy expression of it haunted her afterwards. Mrs. McVeigh, noticing her guest's absorbed gaze, turned and saw Margeret as she was about to leave the room. "What is it, Margeret?" she asked, kindly, "looking for Miss Gertrude?" "Yes, Mistress McVeigh; Mr. Loring wants her." "I think she must have gone to her room, she and Mistress Nesbitt went upstairs some time ago." Margeret gently inclined her head, and passed out with the noiseless tread Evilena had striven to emulate in vain that day at Loringwood. "One of Miss Loring's retainers?" asked Judithe; "I fancied they only kept colored servants."