“I can’t get a sane, sensible word out of anyone. Braids of yellow hair and orphan babies are the only subjects people will mention to-day,” she added drolly and yet a bit plaintively. “And I’m fed up with the matter of yellow hair, and if I am going to talk about babies, it’s with people that appreciate their fine points better than anyone I have seen thus far.” As they parted at the lane, Alice begged Anna not to say anything about her having come to the cottage. Anna assented without question and went on to the parsonage. Alice Lorraine stole softly up the lane. There was no one in sight and no sound. She was earlier than the hour she had named and she went round the house and sat down on the step of the kitchen porch. After a little she stole part way down the overgrown path to the shop and back again. The shop looked as empty as the house,--nay, emptier. The girl was convinced that there was no one there. And her heart grew cold at the thought that four o’clock might come and yet bring no one. Suppose he shouldn’t come? John Converse had the key not only to the shop but to the house. Suppose he had been--well, the sort of person her mother, for example, might guess him to be upon hearing the story? He wasn’t, but--something might have happened. He might be ill at the hotel at Marsden Bridge or--any number of things might have happened to prevent his coming. And he had the keys! Suppose her mother should want to get into the cottage to-morrow? The girl rose and ran swiftly but quietly to the shop. Her heart was in her mouth as she knocked softly on the door, so softly that the sound wouldn’t have been heard from the porch she had just left. The door opened and the stranger held it wide for her. Another stranger to-day! And it wasn’t only the dear light that made the difference. John Converse might have been another person from the man of yesterday. He was dressed well,--almost elegantly. Certainly his suit, though it had a sack coat, was of fine material and good make and he wore a silk shirt and jaunty tie as if he were used to such informal elegance; and all the accessories were in keeping down to his neat shoes. He was not less thin nor pale--his face was almost cadaverous in the stronger light. But his eyes were merry and full of life, his rather large, thin-lipped mouth puckered with amusement at her wonderment, and there was a boyish eagerness about him that was flattering and very grateful to the girl’s perturbed spirit. They shook hands gravely. “It is more than good of you to come,” he said. Alice Lorraine gave a little cry. “Why, what have you done!” she exclaimed and looked about her as if frightened. “Won’t you sit down and take in the magnificence at your ease?” he asked with a whimsical charm which seemed native to him. And Alice dropped into the large and comfortable wooden chair he indicated which was not only free from dust but had apparently been scrubbed clean.