Marley edged away from the what-not, rose and took the hand the girl gave him. Then Miss Carter crossed to the black haircloth sofa and seated herself, smoothing out her skirts. "Didn't know what to do, so we thought we'd come out and see you," said Lawrence. "Oh, indeed!" said Miss Carter. "Well, it's too bad about you. We'll do when you can't find anybody else to put up with you, eh?" "Oh, yes, you'll do in a pinch," chaffed Lawrence. "Well, can't you find a comfortable seat?" the girl asked, still addressing Lawrence, who had gone back to the piano stool. "I'm going to play in a minute," said Lawrence, "and sing." "Well, excuse _me_!" implored Miss Carter. "Do let me get you a seat." Lawrence promptly went over to the sofa and leaned back in one corner of it, affecting a discomfort. "Can't I get you a pillow, Mr. Lawrence?" Miss Carter asked presently. "Or perhaps a cot; I believe there's one somewhere in the attic." "Oh, I reckon I can stand it," said Lawrence. Marley had regained his seat on the edge of the slippery chair. "Where's Vinie?" asked Lawrence. "She's coming," answered Miss Carter. "Taking out her curl papers, eh?" said Lawrence. "She needn't mind us." Miss Carter pretended a disgust, but as she was framing a retort, somehow, the eyes of all of them turned toward the hall door. A girl in a gown of white stood there clasping and unclasping her hands curiously, and looking from one to another of those in the room. "Come in, Lavinia," said Miss Carter. Something had softened her voice. The girl stepped into the room almost timidly. "Miss Blair," said Miss Carter, "let me introduce Mr. Marley." The sudden consciousness that he had been sitting--and staring--smote Marley, and he sprang to his feet. Embarrassment overpowered him and he bowed awkwardly. Lawrence had been silent, and his silence had been a long one for him. Seeming to recognize this he hastened to say: "Well, how's the world using you, Vinie?" The girl smiled and answered: "Oh, pretty well, thank you, Jack." It grated on Marley to hear her called Vinie. Lavinia Blair! Lavinia Blair! That was her name. He had heard it before, of course, yet it had never sounded as it did now when he repeated it to himself. The girl had seated herself in a rocking-chair across the room, almost out of range, as it were. He was rather glad of this, if anything. It seemed to relieve him of the duty of talking to her. He supposed, of course, they would pair off somehow. The young people always did in Macochee. He supposed he had been brought there to pair off with Lavinia Blair. He liked the thought, yet the position had its responsibilities. Somehow he never could forget that he could not dance. He hoped they would not propose dancing. He always had a fear of that in making calls, and all the calls he made seemed to come to it soon or late; some one always proposed it.