"I left him at the gate. He's coming in in a minute," Elizabeth said; and turned to Blair: "I didn't know you had come home." Blair explained that he was only in Mercer for a day. "I'm in a hole," he said drolly, "and I've come home to have Nannie get me out." "Nannie is always ready to get people out of holes;" Elizabeth said, but her voice was vague. She was listening for David's step, her cheeks beginning to burn with mortification, at his delay. "Where _is_ David?" Nannie demanded, returning from a fruitless search for him in the hall. "He's a lucky dog," Blair said, looking at the charming, angry face with open and friendly admiration. Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know about his luck. By the way, he is going to Philadelphia the first of March, Nannie," she said carelessly. "I thought he didn't have to go until April?" Nannie sympathized. "So did I. Perhaps he'll tell you why he has changed his mind. He hasn't deigned to give me his reasons yet." And Blair, watching her, said to himself, "Same old Elizabeth!" He began to talk to her in his gay, teasing way, but she was not listening; suddenly she interrupted him, saying that she must go home. "I thought David was coming in, but I suppose he's walking up and down, waiting for me." "If he doesn't know which side his bread is buttered, I'll walk home with you," Blair said; "and Nancy dear, while I'm gone, you see Mother and do your best, won't you?" "Yes," poor Nannie sighed, "but I do wish--" Blair did not wait to hear what she wished; he had eyes only for this self-absorbed young creature who would not listen when he spoke to her. At the gate she hesitated, looked hurriedly about her, up and down the squalid street; she did not answer, did not apparently hear, some question that he asked. Blair glanced up and down the street, too. "David doesn't appreciate his opportunities," he said. Elizabeth's lip tightened, and she flung up her head; the rose in her cheeks was drowned in scarlet. She came out of her absorption, and began to sparkle at her companion; she teased him, but not too much; she flattered him, very delicately; she fell into half-sentimental reminiscences that made him laugh, then stabbed him gently with an indifferent word that showed how entirely she had forgotten him. And all the time her eyes were absent, and the straight line in her cheek held the dimple a prisoner. Blair, who had begun with a sort of good-natured, rather condescending amusement at his old playmate, found himself, to his surprise, on his mettle. "Don't go home yet," he said; "let's take a walk." "I'd love to!" "Mercer seems to be just as hideous as ever," Blair said; "suppose we go across the river, and get away from it?" She agreed lightly: "Horrid place." At the corner, she flashed a glance down the side street; David was not to be seen. "Will David practise here, when he is ready to put out his shingle?" "I'm sure I don't know. I can't keep track of David's plans."