“Then you will be disappointed,” she answered, tartly, but she went obediently for the verses. “But I can not stay to see you read them. There is company only just arrived, and your mother wants me in the drawing-room,” she said, glad of so good an excuse for getting away, for her fair cheeks tingled with bashfulness. Why, oh, why had she been so silly as to own to verse-making? She could fancy him laughing quietly to himself at her crudities. But the die was cast. She had blundered into this humiliation of her own accord in her eagerness to climb nearer to the height of his genius. She flung the portfolio down upon the table, and made a very undignified retreat in her haste to be gone. The visitors waiting for her in the drawing-room were some acquaintances she had made on first coming to Verelands several months ago--two gay young girls, and their brother, an unexceptionable young man. They were wealthy, and of good family--old friends of Mrs. de Vere, who warmly seconded the invitation they extended to Thea to return with them for a week’s visit to their country home, something more than three miles away. “There will be quite a party of us. Some of our schoolmates will arrive from the North this evening, and we shall have a gay week,” said Miss Diana Bentley, the elder of the two girls, a tall, handsome brunette. “Say that you will come, Thea!” cried the younger, Nell, a girl of about the same age as Thea, and her good-looking young brother added, eagerly: “We will not take ‘no’ for an answer.” Thea looked at Mrs. de Vere, who said, kindly: “Go, if you wish, dear. The old woman will try to do without you for a few days.” “But my riding-lessons? You know I have just commenced learning,” Thea said, doubtfully. “I will take pleasure in riding with you every day,” said Cameron Bentley, quickly. He admired Thea very much, and was eager to have her at Orange Grove, his beautiful home. She flushed slightly under the thrilling glance of his dark eyes, then gave her consent to go. It had occurred to her that here was a fortunate escape from the intolerable bashfulness that had overwhelmed her since she had thoughtlessly given her promise to let Norman de Vere read her verses. “A whole week--he will have read and forgotten the trash by then,” she thought, with swift relief, and made ready gladly to return with the Bentleys to Orange Grove--Mrs. de Vere promising to pack her trunk and send it later in the day. Norman de Vere, eagerly conning the papers she had left with him, was startled presently by a soft little tap at the door. “Come in,” he said, and the door opened, admitting a lovely vision--Thea in a dress and hat of dark-blue velvet with pale-blue plumes sweeping her shoulders and mingling with the spun silk of her golden curls, her beautiful face bright, eager, smiling. Norman’s heart leaped with a thrill that no sophistry could pronounce brotherly--a thrill that startled him with its keen pleasure.