She cast down her eyes coyly, as if a sudden thought whispered that she had said too much, and led the way to the little drawing-room, Henry pleasantly thrilled with the charm of her voice and the freedom of her greeting. But strangely enough, another face which lingered in his memory glowed there again, and the thought that came to him was that its owner had not been half so cordial in her welcome to him. CHAPTER XII "A JOLLY, DASHING SORT OF GIRL" THE removing of the Wintons to Laysford had been a distinct change for the better in the fortunes of the family. Mr. Winton's situation furnished him with a comfortable income, and Edgar was now contributing appreciably to the domestic funds, while Miss Winton's music-teaching brought an acceptable addition beyond furnishing her with an ample variety of dress, in which she always displayed a bold, though a cultivated taste. Their house was a great improvement on the little home in which Henry had lodged six years ago, though it was still a poor substitute for the luxurious residence Mr. Winton had maintained before his business failure, when Flo and Edgar were children. The old horse-hair furniture had disappeared from the dining-room, and in its place stood an elegant leather suite. Henry would find the former still doing duty in a room upstairs, which Edgar called his study. The drawing-room was the most notable indication of changed fortunes, and bore many traces of Flo's adorning hand, Edgar proudly drawing Henry's attention to some of her paintings, and thus affording her excellent excuse for becoming blushes. "Why, Henry, it is quite like old times to have you among us again," said Mrs. Winton, when he had entered the drawing-room. She retained the right to his Christian name, although Flo, who had been in the habit of addressing him familiarly at Wheelton, had surrendered that, as Henry noticed, and was annoyed at himself for noticing. Mr. Winton joined in the welcome, and Henry expressed his pleasure to be among them again. "I need not ask whether you had a good time while you were away," Mr. Winton continued. "You are looking extremely well; brown as a berry." "Quite like a gipsy," suggested Flo, and she decided at that moment that she had always entertained a distinct preference for the Romany type of manly beauty. It was not altogether to her mind that the conversation swiftly drifted into the uninteresting channels of public life in Laysford, touching even the state of the hosiery trade, in which Mr. Winton was engaged. At the tea-table, however, Flo had Henry by her side, and made the talking pace with some spirit and, it must be granted, vivacity.