Mrs. White had seen Louie many times, and had once had her to tea when she invited the choir and teachers in the Sunday school, as a matter of duty. She knew Herbert’s partiality for her, and had felt annoyed by it; but she was very gracious now, and kept Louie’s hand in hers, while she expressed her gratitude, and then passed her on to the judge, who was rather more demonstrative, although there was in his manner an air of superiority and patronage which Louie felt and resented. She did not like the judge, and she held her head high while she said she was glad if she had been of service, and had only done what she should wish a friend to do for her father if he were in a similar strait. “Not a strait,” the judge said, a little testily. “That means a tight place; and I believe in my soul we should have pulled through somehow without any help; but I thank you just the same.” With the trouble over and in the past, he was not as grateful as he had been at first, and it annoyed him that he had been beholden to Tom Grey of all other men. But he could not help himself. He had been helped, and the girl instrumental in helping him was there, and being made much of by Fred and Mrs. Lansing and Blanche Percy, the last of whom could hardly wait to tell her what she thought of her heroism. There was something about Louie which fascinated Miss Percy—a feeling that she had known her always, or that there was a tie between them of some kind, which would have drawn her to the girl if there had been no bank episode in the morning. She could not, however, keep her long to herself, for the people from upstairs were coming down and filling the space around the receiving party. Fred had now taken his place at a point where he could easily receive or stand aloof, as he chose. He preferred the latter, for meeting strangers was not to his taste. He had had a surfeit of it in Washington, and would far rather be a spectator and watch the different guests as they came. Then his mind was considerably distracted with thoughts of a white muslin gown, with baby waist and red ribbons, and a pair of brown eyes which had looked at him just as no other eyes had ever looked, with no shade of coquetry in them, or sign of elation because of notice from him. He saw the muslin gown and red ribbons at last in the distance near the piazza, and when the dancing commenced he saw one or two young men making their way toward it and knew they were asking Louie for the dance. Herbert saw it, too, and leaving Blanche Percy, he went to the dancing room and waited while Louie was whirled around by a Merivale boy, who knew no more of time than a cow, Herbert said to Fred, who was standing beside him, watching the pair. “Is knowledge of time necessary to a good dancer?” Fred asked.