He withdrew, feeling that he had made a very poor impression. Stella's eyes had been on him in a very inquiring way. She looked after him when he had gone. "Isn't he nice?" she said to Myrtle frankly. "I think so," replied Myrtle; "kind o'. He's too moody, though." "What makes him?" "He isn't very strong." "I think he has a nice smile." "I'll tell him!" "No, please don't! You won't, will you?" "No." "But he _has_ a nice smile." "I'll ask you round to the house some evening and you can meet him again." "I'd like to," said Stella. "It would be a lot of fun." "Come out Saturday evening and stay all night. He's home then." "I will," said Stella. "Won't that be fine!" "I believe you like him!" laughed Myrtle. "I think he's awfully nice," said Stella, simply. The second meeting happened on Saturday evening as arranged, when he came home from his odd day at his father's insurance office. Stella had come to supper. Eugene saw her through the open sitting room door, as he bounded upstairs to change his clothes, for he had a fire of youth which no sickness of stomach or weakness of lungs could overcome at this age. A thrill of anticipation ran over his body. He took especial pains with his toilet, adjusting a red tie to a nicety, and parting his hair carefully in the middle. He came down after a while, conscious that he had to say something smart, worthy of himself, or she would not see how attractive he was; and yet he was fearful as to the result. When he entered the sitting room she was sitting with his sister before an open fire-place, the glow of a lamp with a red-flowered shade warmly illuminating the room. It was a commonplace room, with its blue cloth-covered center table, its chairs of stereotyped factory design, and its bookcase of novels and histories, but it was homey, and the sense of hominess was strong.