At her summons a maid entered. "Somebody to see you, Miss. You don't feel well enough, do you?" The girl's tone was sympathetic. Sylvia was of a different type from those who usually sought the Association. Her appearance suggested romance. "Who is it?" she asked eagerly, half rising. "A man?" "Yes'm." "A tall man, very straight?" "He ain't so awful straight," returned the maid doubtfully. "Thick hair?" (quickly). "Yes'm." "Handsome teeth?" "I--I didn't see his teeth." "Splendid chin?" "Law, ma'am, his beard covers his chin." "Beard!" Sylvia sprang to her feet. "You're crazy." "No, I ain't, ma'am. Oh, 'tain't the gentleman you came here with, and the superintendent said was one o' the best connected folks in Boston. 'Tain't him. I saw him. He's grand. I guess this one is sort of a country gentleman, but he's awful pleasant-spoken and his beard's as white as the driving snow." Sylvia flung herself back on the bed. "You've made a mistake. He asked for somebody else." "No, ma'am," returned the maid; "because I thought first he said 'silver lace,' and I thought maybe he was a peddler, 'cause he had a bag; so I told him we didn't want anything, and he was real nice. His eyes sort of twinkled up, and he said _he did_ want something. He wanted to see Miss--Sylvia--Lacey, real slow; and was you here? and I said you was, and he told me to tell you a cousin of your mother's wanted to see you, and his name was Jacob Johnson." "I never heard of such a person," said Sylvia. "Does he look shabby--poor? It sounds like an impostor." "N-no," returned the girl doubtfully. "He ain't exactly a Rube, but then you'd know he wasn't a swell, either. He looks awful nice out of his eyes. I'd like to have him _my_ mother's cousin." This was somewhat encouraging, but country cousins were no part of Sylvia's plan. "You go down and tell him I've been ill. I'm not able to see him," she said at last decidedly. "I don't like to one bit," returned the maid. "I kind of hate to disappoint him." She lingered a moment, but Sylvia shrugged her shoulders and turned her face to the wall, so the girl departed. Only a couple of minutes had passed when the knock sounded again on Sylvia's door, and the maid pushed it open without awaiting permission. "He asked was you able to be dressed," she began, rather breathless from her quick run, "and I said you was, and he said for me to tell you he'd come about the telegram you got." Sylvia was still holding the telegram. She started. So Mr. Dunham was not coming. He had not admired her, then. He did despise her as a cast-off poor relation. A flush rose to her cheeks, and she sprang from the bed quickly. "I'll go down," she said briefly. "Well, I'm real glad," declared the maid. "That wrapper looks all right. I wouldn't stop to change." She gazed admiringly at the brilliant tints of Sylvia's complexion as the girl ran a comb through her reddish curls.