There was a sigh; and Katherine watched with perplexed eyes. This depression, which she was sorry to see for the girl's sake, tended nevertheless to raise her own spirits. For if Doris had felt for Hamilton aught approaching to what she herself felt for him, coming home must have meant delight, not dulness. She knew that the two had not even met, so far; mainly because Hamilton had been absent most of the time, but partly also because Doris had shirked encounters. "You will stay to luncheon with me," Katherine said. The invitation was accepted listlessly, and was regretted almost as soon as given. For Hamilton Stirling walked in; and the look that came to his face at sight of her caller put an instant extinguisher on the little flame of hope in Katherine's heart. He went straight to the side of the younger girl,—for once almost impulsive in movement, while Doris received him with indifference. "Why did you never answer the letter that I wrote, when you were in Switzerland?" he asked. "Didn't I? Oh, I suppose I was busy—or forgot," she replied, with a backward cast of her mind to the little châlet and the leaping grasshoppers. "Was it about—mountain strata?"—and she laughed. Katherine resented the laugh for Hamilton; but he only drew his chair near, and tried to lead the girl into a long talk. He asked where she had been, what she had done, how this and that had affected her; and for once he seemed really to wish to hear what she had to say. She guided him to the safe shelter of his pet subject; and he poured forth information with his usual slow volubility; while she listened—or made believe to listen—in submissive silence. He thought her wonderfully improved. The Squire being absent, those three had luncheon together; and all through, Hamilton devoted himself to Doris, with only so much reference to his cousin as politeness demanded. Afterward it was the same. They returned to the hall; and he had eyes and ears for the Rector's daughter alone. When she cycled back, he insisted on acting as her escort. She was in no wild mood to-day, but gentle and dreamy. She did not rush down hills, or try to leave him behind, but kept to a steady pace, and allowed him to take the lead. Hamilton was charmed. This was indeed the model future wife of his imaginings. He found her altered and developed. Something had drawn her out. She was no longer the excitable school-girl, a victim to every passing breeze,—but a woman! And Doris could not understand herself this hour. For she was conscious of enjoying his companionship. She liked to hear of his literary efforts; and it pleased her to be again asked to help in his proof-corrections. At the beginning he had impressed her with a sense of his stiffness and heaviness, in contrast with the slight and agile young mountaineer; but this impression faded as they talked.