She had a "wonderful" week in Cambridge—more and more excited by the discovery that young men found her as agreeable as she found them, and that they sought her now on perfectly even terms of years and experience; regarded her as of them, not merely with them. And this enchanted her. Two of her school friends, the Hildreth girls, were there with their mother, and the latter very gladly extended her wing to cover Stephanie for the dance, John Cleland not feeling very well and remaining in Boston. And it chanced that Stephanie met there Oswald Grismer; and knew him instantly when he was presented to her. Even after all those years, the girl clearly recollected seeing him in the railroad station, and remembered the odd emotions of curiosity and disapproval she experienced when he stared at her so persistently—disapproval slightly mitigated by consciousness of the boyish flattery his manner toward her implied. He said, in his easy, half-mischievous way: "You don’t remember me, of course, Miss Quest, but when you were a very little girl I once saw you at the Grand Central Station in New York." Stephanie, as yet too inexperienced a diplomat to forget such things, replied frankly that she remembered him perfectly. When it was too late, she blushed at her admission. "That’s unusually nice of you," he said. "Maybe it was my bad manners that impressed you, Miss Quest. I remember that I had never seen such a pretty little girl in my life, and I’m very sure I stared at you, and that you were properly annoyed." He was laughing easily, as he spoke, and she laughed, too, still a trifle confused. "I did think you rather rude," she admitted. "But what a long time ago that was! Isn’t it _strange_ that I should remember it? I can even recollect that you and my brother had had a fight in school and that dad made you both shake hands there in the station, before you went aboard the train.... Naturally, I didn’t feel kindly toward you," she added, laughingly. "Jim and I are now on most amiable terms," he assured her, "so please feel kindly toward me now—kindly enough to give me one unimportant dance. Will you, Miss Quest?" Later when he presented himself to claim the dance, her reception of him was unmistakably friendly. He had grown up into a spare, loosely coupled, yet rather graceful young fellow, with hair and eyes that matched, both of a deep amber shade. But there was in his bearing, in his carelessly attractive manner, in his gaze, a lurking hint of irresponsibility, perhaps of mischief, which did not, however, impress her disagreeably. On the contrary, she felt oddly at ease with him, as though she had known him for some time. "Have you forgiven me for staring at you so many years ago?" he inquired, smilingly. She thought that she had. But his next words startled her a little; he said, still smiling in his careless and attractive way: