acid impression left by
his call on Ella by passing an hour with some one whom he knew would be
glad to see him and not be afraid to let him know it. In this aim he was
quite successful. Maud's face fairly glowed with glad surprise when he
entered the room. This was their second meeting since the evening Arthur
had called to talk pottery, and the tacit understanding that her tender
avowal was to be ignored between them had become so well established
that they could converse quite at their ease. But ignoring is not
forgetting. On the other hand, it implies a constant remembering; and
the mutual consciousness between these young people could scarcely fail
to give a peculiar piquancy to their intercourse.

That evening was the first of many which the young man passed in Maud's
parlor, and the beginning of an intimacy which caused no end of wonder
among their acquaintances. Had its real nature been suspected, that
wonder would have been vastly increased. For whereas they supposed it
to be an entirely ordinary love affair, except in the abruptness of its
development, it was, in fact, a quite extraordinary variation on the
usual social relations of young men and women.

Maud's society had in fact not been long in acquiring an attraction for
Arthur quite independent of the peculiar circumstances under which he
had first become interested in her. As soon as she began to feel at
ease with him, her shyness rapidly disappeared, and he was astonished
to discover that the stiff, silent girl whom he had thought rather dull
possessed cultore and originality such as few girls of his acquaintance
could lay claim to. His assurance beyond possibility of doubt that she
was as really glad to see him whenever he called as she said she was,
and that though his speech might be dull or his jests poor they were
sure of a friendly critic, made the air of her parlor wonderfully genial.
The result was that he fell into a habit whenever he wanted a little
social relaxation, but felt too tired, dispirited, or lazy for the
effort of a call on any of the other girls, of going to Maud. One
evening he said to her just as he was leaving, "If I come here too much,
you must send me home."

"I will when you do," she replied, with a bright smile.

"But really," he persisted, "I am afraid I bore you by coming so often."

"You know better than that," was her only reply, but the vivid blush
which accompanied the words was a sufficient enforcement of them; a