It was unavoidable that after the enforced journey the sight of Dosia’s white face and imploring eyes should have filled him with a rush of tender compassion which completely blotted out the previous reluctance from his memory. Few men spend their time regretting past stages of thought, and he had naturally accepted her tremulous thankfulness for his solicitude. After the long day of travel in Justin’s company, the color had begun to return faintly to Dosia’s lips and cheeks. She was also growing to feel a little more at home with him; he had seemed too much a stranger and she had been too greatly in awe of him at first to ask many questions. He himself had spoken little, but had been kind in numberless ways, and thoughtful of her comfort, and always smiled encouragingly when he looked at her. Now, at the journey’s end, he began to talk, in a secret restlessness which he could not own. His mind had been busy all day with the typometer and his plans for the morrow, but as he neared home he could not shake off a haunting premonition of something unpleasant to come. “Lois and the children will all be drawn up in line expecting the new cousin,” he said. “Will they?” asked Theodosia, with pleased interest. “But they will be looking out for you as well as for me.” “Yes, I suppose so; I very seldom go away from home. But I was wrong in saying that both children would be up, for it will be nearly seven when we reach the house, and they go to bed at six; perhaps Zaidee will be there. I hope you like children, or you will have a bad time of it at our house.” “I love children,” said Dosia, with the solemnity of a profession of faith. “I think you will like Zaidee, then; she is a little girl who has her hair tied up with bunches of blue ribbon, and the rest of it straggles around in light wisps, or is gathered into an inconceivably small pigtail at the back of her neck. She has a pug-nose, round blue eyes, little white teeth, and an expression of great responsibility and wisdom, because at the age of six she is the eldest daughter—and that means a great deal, you know.” “Oh,” said Dosia, “I am an ‘eldest daughter.’” She choked, momentarily, as she thought of the family at home. “Was it only last night that you started for me?” she asked, after a pause during which she had looked hard out of the car-window. “Yes; I’ve made pretty good time, I think. It was lucky that we could catch that eight-thirty express this morning; if we hadn’t it would have put us back nearly twenty-four hours—and that would have been bad,” he added under his breath. “Perhaps it was hard for you to leave even for one day,” said Dosia timidly. She felt somehow away outside of his inner thought, as if she had no inherent place in his mind at all. “You are just starting in business, aren’t you?”