the unknown quantity being her possible
interest for him, but he always worked it out calmly. He kept
himself out of his own shadow, when it came to the question of
emotions, in something the same fashion that his uncle Norman did.
Now, looking at Ellen Brewster with the whole of his heart setting
towards her in obedience to that law which had brought him into
being, he yet was saying quite coolly and loudly in his own inner
consciousness, "Wait, wait, wait! Wait until to-morrow, see how you
feel then. You have felt in much this way before. Wait! Perhaps you
don't see it as it is. Wait!"

He realized his own wisdom all the more clearly when Ellen led him
to the settee where her relatives sat guarding her graduation
presents and her precious valedictory. She presented him gracefully
enough. Ellen knew nothing of society etiquette, she had never
introduced such a young gentleman as this to any one in her life,
but her inborn dignity of character kept her self-poise perfect.
Still, when young Lloyd saw the mother coarsely perspiring and
fairly aggressive in her delight over her daughter, when poor Andrew
hoped he saw him well, and Mrs. Zelotes eyed him with sharp
approbation, and Eva, conscious of her shabbiness, bowed with a
stiff toss of her head and sat back sullenly, and little Amabel
surveyed him with uncanny wisdom divided between himself and Ellen,
he became conscious of a slight disappearance of his glamour. He
thanked Ellen most heartily for the privilege which she granted him,
when she took the valedictory from the heap of flowers, and took his
leave with a bow which made Fanny nudge Andrew, almost before the
young man's back was turned.

Then she looked at Ellen, but she said nothing. A sudden impulse of
delicacy prevented her. There was something about this beloved
daughter of hers which all at once seemed strange to her. She began
to associate her with the sacred mystery of life as she had never
done. Then, too, there was the more superficial association with one
of another class which she held in outward despite but inward awe.

Ellen gathered up her presents into her lap, and sat there a few
minutes through the last dance, which she had refused to Granville
Joy, who went away with nervous alertness for another girl, and
nobody spoke to her.

When young Lloyd and Cynthia Lennox and the others left, as they did
directly, Fanny murmured, "They've gone," and they all knew what she
meant. She was thinking--