“How very kind, of you to come and see us, Mr. Beaton! When did you come to New York? Don't you find it warm here? We've only just lighted the furnace, but with this mild weather it seems too early. Mamma does keep it so hot!” She rushed about opening doors and shutting registers, and then came back and sat facing him from the sofa with a mask of radiant cordiality. “How have you been since we saw you?” “Very well,” said Beaton. “I hope you're well, Miss Leighton?” “Oh, perfectly! I think New York agrees with us both wonderfully. I never knew such air. And to think of our not having snow yet! I should think everybody would want to come here! Why don't you come, Mr. Beaton?” Beaton lifted his eyes and looked at her. “I--I live in New York,” he faltered. “In New York City!” she exclaimed. “Surely, Alma,” said her mother, “you remember Mr. Beaton's telling us he lived in New York.” “But I thought you came from Rochester; or was it Syracuse? I always get those places mixed up.” “Probably I told you my father lived at Syracuse. I've been in New York ever since I came home from Paris,” said Beaton, with the confusion of a man who feels himself played upon by a woman. “From Paris!” Alma echoed, leaning forward, with her smiling mask tight on. “Wasn't it Munich where you studied?” “I was at Munich, too. I met Wetmore there.” “Oh, do you know Mr. Wetmore?” “Why, Alma,” her mother interposed again, “it was Mr. Beaton who told you of Mr. Wetmore.” “Was it? Why, yes, to be sure. It was Mrs. Horn who suggested Mr. Ilcomb. I remember now. I can't thank you enough for having sent me to Mr. Wetmore, Mr. Beaton. Isn't he delightful? Oh yes, I'm a perfect Wetmorian, I can assure you. The whole class is the same way.” “I just met him and Mrs. Wetmore at dinner,” said Beaton, attempting the recovery of something that he had lost through the girl's shining ease and steely sprightliness. She seemed to him so smooth and hard, with a repellent elasticity from which he was flung off. “I hope you're not working too hard, Miss Leighton?” “Oh no! I enjoy every minute of it, and grow stronger on it. Do I look very much wasted away?” She looked him full in the face, brilliantly smiling, and intentionally beautiful. “No,” he said, with a slow sadness; “I never saw you looking better.” “Poor Mr. Beaton!” she said, in recognition of his doleful tune. “It seems to be quite a blow.” “Oh no--” “I remember all the good advice you used to give me about not working too hard, and probably it's that that's saved my life--that and the house-hunting. Has mamma told you of our adventures in getting settled? “Some time we must. It was such fun! And didn't you think we were fortunate to get such a pretty house? You must see both our parlors.” She jumped up, and her mother followed her with a bewildered look as she ran into the back parlor and flashed up the gas.