am out here for."

"To see the pretty girls, of course," said Mrs. Blakesly.

"They may be plain, after all," he said.

"They're always pretty at graduation time and at marriage," Blakesly
interpreted.

"Then there's the ice cream and cake," Mrs. Blakesly added.

"Where do all these people come from?" Ware asked, looking about. "It's
all farm land here."

"They are the fathers, mothers, and brothers of the seminary girls. They
come from everywhere. See the dear creatures about the door! Let's hurry
along."

"They do not interest me. I take off my hat to the beauty of the day,
however."

Ware had evidently come under protest, for he lingered in the daisied
grass which was dappled with shadows and tinkling with bobolinks and
catbirds.

A broad path led up to the central building, whose double doors were
swung wide with most hospitable intent. Ware ascended the steps behind
his friends, a bored look on his dark face.

Two rows of flushed, excited girls with two teachers at their head stood
flanking the doorway to receive the visitors, who streamed steadily into
the wide, cool hall.

Mrs. Blakesly took Ware in hand. "Mr. Ware, this is Miss Powell. Miss
Powell, this is Mr. Jenkin Ware, lawyer and friend to the Blakeslys."

"I'm very glad to see you," said a cool voice, in which gladness was
entirely absent.

Ware turned to shake hands mechanically, but something in the steady
eyes and clasp of the hand held out turned his listless manner into
surprise and confusion. He stared at her without speaking, only for a
second, and yet so long she colored and withdrew her hand sharply.

"I beg your pardon, I didn't get the name."

"Miss Powell," answered Mrs. Blakesly, who had certainly missed this
little comedy, which would have been so delicious to her.

Ware moved on, shaking hands with the other teachers and bowing to the
girls. He seized an early moment to turn and look back at Miss Powell.
His listless indifference was gone. She was a fine figure of a woman--a
strong, lithe figure, dressed in a well-ordered, light-colored gown. Her
head was girlish, with a fluff of brown hair knotted low at the back.
Her profile was magnificent. The head had the intellectual poise, but
the proud bosom and strong body added another quality. "She is a modern
type," Ware said, remembering a painting of such a head he had seen in a
recent exhibition.

As he studied her she turned and caught him looking, and he felt again a
cu