But as the voice insisted that she come in, and the woman with the smiling eyes laid her hand on her arm as if to lead her into the room, she reluctantly entered. As she attempted to stammer forth her thanks, and her fear of trespassing upon their kindness, she saw that the owner of the voice was an elderly lady, evidently an invalid, for she sat in a Morris chair by the window, propped up with pillows. As she motioned for the girl to come nearer, and slowly and awkwardly put forth her hand to feel her wet skirts, Nathalie noticed that her hands were swathed with white cloths. “Dear me,” she murmured worriedly, “you are wet. I am afraid you will take cold. But just take off your blouse and skirt, and Mona will dry them for you in a few moments by the kitchen fire.” Then, with a few strange motions of the bandaged hands to the sweet-faced woman,—which immediately revealed to Nathalie that she was deaf and dumb,—the wet garments were quickly removed and taken out to the kitchen to dry. Presently the girl, with humorous amazement, found herself snugly wrapped in a silk Japanese kimono, seated in a big chair by the invalid lady, gazing at her in silent admiration. It was a face that could lay no real claim to beauty, and yet to Nathalie there was a singular charm in the clear-cut outlines of the delicate features, and the soft, warm tints of a complexion that, although many years past youth’s fresh coloring, resembled a blush-rose. But it was the eyes that held Nathalie, black-lashed, deep-set, with a calm, peaceful expression in their deep blue; and the brown hair, slightly threaded with gray, parted in the middle, and curling in a natural wave on each side of her face, gave it the quaint sweetness of some old-time miniature. Fascinated, as it were, by the charm of the lady’s personality, the girl was soon chatting volubly, as she told how she came to get caught in the storm. “I am sure I should have reached home before the rain came,” she cried in an aggrieved voice, “if it had not been for that _horrid_ man. For I intended going home by the road he took, which is much shorter, but he had made me so nervous by his rudeness that I took the longest way back, for I was afraid I should meet him again.” “Oh, you must not feel annoyed at receiving an invitation to ride in an automobile when trudging up these mountain roads,” laughed the lady, “for it is quite the customary thing to give a pedestrian a lift up the hills. But I think, in your case,” she added more soberly, “that you did right in refusing the man’s offer, for he was rude, as you say, and all young girls should be careful.”