“No; but he looked older than he does now, being so ill. I used to think he would be very handsome with good health; and now I see I was right,” said Christie, with feigned enthusiasm; for it was a new thing to tease David, and she liked it. But she got no more of it; for, just then, the singer began to sing to the select few who remained, and every one was silent. Leaning on the high back of Christie’s chair, David watched the reflection of her face in the long mirror; for she listened to the music with downcast eyes, unconscious what eloquent expressions were passing over her countenance. She seemed a new Christie to David, in that excited mood; and, as he watched her, he thought: “She loved this man once, or he loved her; and tonight it all comes back to her. How will it end?” So earnestly did he try to read that altered face that Christie felt the intentness of his gaze, looked up suddenly, and met his eyes in the glass. Something in the expression of those usually serene eyes, now darkened and dilated with the intensity of that long scrutiny, surprised and troubled her; and, scarcely knowing what she said, she asked quickly: “Who are you admiring?” “Not myself.” “I wonder if you’d think me vain if I asked you something that I want to know?” she said, obeying a sudden impulse. “Ask it, and I’ll tell you.” “Am I much changed since you first knew me?” “Very much.” “For the better or the worse?” “The better, decidedly.” “Thank you, I hoped so; but one never knows how one seems to other people. I was wondering what you saw in the glass.” “A good and lovely woman, Christie.” How sweet it sounded to hear David say that! so simply and sincerely that it was far more than a mere compliment. She did not thank him, but said softly as if to herself: “So let me seem until I be” —and then sat silent, so full of satisfaction in the thought that David found her “good and lovely,” she could not resist stealing a glance at the tell-tale mirror to see if she might believe him. She forgot herself, however; for he was off guard now, and stood looking away with brows knit, lips tightly set, and eyes fixed, yet full of fire; his whole attitude and expression that of a man intent on subduing some strong impulse by a yet stronger will. It startled Christie; and she leaned forward, watching him with breathless interest till the song ceased, and, with the old impatient gesture, David seemed to relapse into his accustomed quietude. “It was the wonderful music that excited him: that was all;” thought Christie; yet, when he came round to say good-night, the strange expression was not gone, and his manner was not his own. “Shall I ask if I may come again,” he said, imitating Mr. Fletcher’s graceful bow with an odd smile. “I let him come because he has lost his sister, and is lonely,” began Christie, but got no further, for David said, “Good-night!” abruptly, and was gone without a word to Mr. Power.