effulgent with good-will and apology and reverent admiration. She blushed to think it admiration, though she liked to think it so, and she did not snub him when the young man jumped about, neglecting his own storage, and divining the right moments for his offers of help. She saw that he was a little shorter than herself, that he was very light and quick on his feet, and had a round, brown face, clean-shaven, and a round, brown head, close shorn, from which in the zeal of his attentions to her he had shed his straw hat onto the window-sill. He formed a strong contrast to the contents of his store-room, which was full, mainly, of massive white furniture picked out in gold, and very blond. He said casually that it had been there, off and on, since long before he could remember, and at these words an impression, vague, inexplicable, deepened in Charlotte's mind. "Mother," she said, for she had now disused the earlier "mamma" in deference to modern usage, "how old was I when we first took that five-dollar room?" She asked this question after she had shown the scrim curtains she had found and brought home with her. "Why? I don't know. Two or three; three or four. I should have to count up. What makes you ask?" "Can a person recollect what happened when they were three or four?" "I should say not, decidedly." "Or recollect a face?" "Certainly not." "Then of course it wasn't. Mother, do you remember ever telling me what the little boy was like who gave me all his playthings and I couldn't decide what to give him back?" "What a question! Of course not! He was very brown and funny, with the beamingest little face in the world. Rather short for his age, I should say, though I haven't the least idea what his age was." "Then it was the very same little boy!" Charlotte said. "Who was the very same little boy?" her mother demanded. "The one that was there to-day; the young man, I mean," Charlotte explained, and then she told what had happened with a want of fullness which her mother's imagination supplied. "Did he say who he was? Is he coming back to-morrow or this afternoon? Did you inquire who he was or where?" "What an idea, mother!" Charlotte said, grouping the several impossibilities under one head in her answer. "You had a perfect right to know, if you thought he was the one." "But I didn't _think_ he was the one, and I don't _know_ that he is now; and if he was, what could I do about it?" "That is true," Mrs. Forsyth owned. "But it's very disappointing. I've always felt as if they ought to know it was your undecidedness and not ungenerousness." Charlotte laughed a little forlornly, but she only said, "Really, mother!" Mrs. Forsyth was still looking at the curtains. "Well, these are not the scrims I wanted. You must go back. I believe I will go with you. The sooner we have it over the better," she added, and she left the undecided Charlotte to decide whether she meant the scrim curtains or the young man's identity.