"Someone has er--called--could you go down at once--I see you are presentable. I--you see," said Miss Aurelia with elaboration, "I am very untidy." Miss Bogart was invariably perfectly groomed and arranged; Sard giggled in derision. "Aunt Reely, what more could you do to be 'presentable,' as you call it?" "My--er--hands," explained Miss Aurelia, with curious firmness--"I have been polishing those little Chinese brasses on my desk and they----" She displayed fingers that looked immaculate, but which she insisted smelled of brass polish. "It takes so long to get off. Now, if you could run down," insisted the lady mildly. "Of course." The girl ran a comb through her tawny hair. "Don't you know who it is?" "Dora said some name like the minister's, I thought. Or was it a lady? I did not pay attention." Miss Aurelia sniffed violently at her fingers. "Phew, phew! Sometimes I think they should invent a brass polish that is odorless. You never know when you've got rid of it. Could you go down at once? It seems so rude to keep them--him--waiting, and I always think," said Miss Aurelia nervously, "that when one is not sure the living-room is dusted, it is better to give him--her--them--less time to look about." It was not different from her aunt's usual incoherence. Sard hardly noticed the tremor, the little excited pat. She went slowly down the stairs across the hall, pushing back the heavy portière of the living-room. The man who turned from the window and came toward her did not wear an old gray flannel shirt and khaki trousers. He was clad in the white flannels that make a man look taller, lighter, of a cooler vigor and grace. The hair that swept back from his forehead was a bright chestnut, and his face was---- Sard stood half turning for flight. The man did not yet take her hand, but he looked swiftly into her eyes. "Was it unfair to come like this?" he demanded. It was evident that he could hardly leash the note of gladness in his voice. "Miss Aurelia thought it better not to tell you, that if you knew you might not come down." There was unutterable tenderness in the light of those eyes. "I could not wait," the man admitted quickly. There was a moment's silence, in which she stood staring at him. This was Colter, the Man on the Place. This was _not_ Colter. This was a glad, confident person, who, something came into Sard's throat, was sure--sure of everything. Much younger, much more buoyant than that one she had known! And, too sure! The tall man looked at her, his expression changing slightly. Then as he glanced at the hand she had not offered him, "I--I have been talking with your father," he said quietly.