“You are giving me more credit than I deserve,” replied Jim quietly. “I did not find you. It was my sister.” “Norine!” exclaimed Clinton. “Miss Norine,” said Jim, with gentle correction. “I beg your pardon--and hers,” said Clinton. “I had supposed that you found me. I have one more favor to ask of you, Mr. Bright.” “You are welcome to anything I can do,” replied Jim courteously. “Well, this is not much,” said Clinton, with his pleasing smile again. “But if you have your evenings at liberty, I should be glad if you would spare me some of them. I am afraid I trouble you greatly.” “Not at all--not at all,” said Jim heartily. “I shall be as greatly pleased as you will. We are very quiet here,” he added, “and I suppose the evenings seem long to you.” Jim was pleased with the implied compliment, as I have no doubt Clinton intended he should be, and he was rapidly thawing out into his genial, friendly self, when the interview was brought to a close by the irrepressible voice of Mrs. Higgins. “Jim Bright!” cried that lady, with her head thrust through the open door, “be you a-comin’ to dinner?” “Why, yes, Mrs. Higgins,” said Jim. “I did not know that dinner was ready.” But the unappeased Mrs. Higgins only muttered that “thanks waz cheap, and there waz no use in a-stay-in’ there all day to lay in a stock o’ ’em.” After dinner, Norine came in as usual, with her work in her hand. Clinton used to think that the day began about three o’clock, for she always came about the same time, and he had been very well satisfied to lay and watch her while she worked, just speaking often enough to bring her face to the light that he might watch the expressive play of every feature. But he was in a more talkative mood to-day. “Miss Norine,” he said, when she had taken her usual low chair by the window, “why did you never tell me that it was you who found me that day?” “Did I never tell you?” asked Norine. “Then probably it was because I did not think it of sufficient importance.” “The finding was of very little importance,” rejoined Clinton, “and you will probably set very little value on the thanks, but they are yours, nevertheless, and they are very sincere.” “I did not mean that,” said Norine, flushing a little and getting confused. “I only meant that it was not necessary for you to thank me. I could take your gratitude for granted. Besides,” she added, “if I had not found you, some one else might have.” “I think not,” said Clinton. “I am a great believer in fate, and I think it was ordained that you should find me.” “Do you believe that bug was ordained to fly over my nose and thus call my attention to you?” asked Norine laughingly.