That big 6 on the calendar stood out before her eyes; it seemed to cover all the man's figure that stood before her. Elinor's heart and mind went through the strangest convulsion. Was it false--was it true? What was she saying? What did it all mean? She repeated mechanically, "It was on the sixth," and then she recovered a kind of desperate courage, and throwing off the strange spell that seemed to be upon her, "Is there any reason," she asked, suddenly, with a little burst of impatience, looking from one to another, "why it should not be the sixth, that you repeat it so?" "I beg your pardon," said the stranger, visibly startled. "I did not mean to imply--only thought----Pray, Mr. Compton, tell the lady I had no intention of offending. I never supposed----" Phil's laugh, loud and clear, rang through the stillness of the afternoon. "He's so used to fibs, he thinks everybody's in a tale," said Phil, "but I can assure you he is a very good fellow, and a great friend of mine, and he means no harm, Nell." Elinor made Mr. Stanfield an extremely dignified bow. "I ought to have gone away at once, and left you to talk over your business," she said, turning away, and Phil did not attempt to detain her. Then the natural rural sense of hospitality came over Elinor. She turned back to find the two men looking after her, standing where she had left them. "I am sure," she said, "that mamma would wish me to ask the gentleman if he would stay to dinner--or at least come in with you, Phil, to tea."