e loathed his cold eyes, his long, slim white hands.
She hated him until he fascinated her.

"Sit down, and I will call Mrs. Doyle."

He went out again, but this time it was the elderly maid who went up the
stairs. Doyle himself came back, and stood before her on the hearth rug.
He was slightly smiling, and the look of uncertainty was gone.

"Now that you've seen me, I'm not absolutely poisonous, am I, Miss Lily?
You don't mind my calling you that, do you? You are my niece. You have
been taught to hate me, of course."

"Yes," said Lily, coldly.

"By Jove, the truth from a Cardew!" Then: "That's an old habit of mine,
damning the Cardews. I'll have to try to get over it, if they are going
to reestablish family relations." He was laughing at her, Lily knew, and
she flushed somewhat.

"I wouldn't make too great an effort, then," she said.

He smiled again, this time not unpleasantly, and suddenly he threw into
his rich Irish voice an unexpected softness. No one knew better than Jim
Doyle the uses of the human voice.

"You mustn't mind me, Miss Lily. I have no reason to love your family,
but I am very happy that you came here to-day. My wife has missed her
people. If you'll run in like this now and then it will do her worlds of
good. And if my being here is going to keep you away I can clear out."

She rather liked him for that speech. He was totally unlike what she had
been led to expect, and she felt a sort of resentment toward her family
for misleading her. He was a gentleman, on the surface at least. He
had not been over-cordial at first, but then who could have expected
cordiality under the circumstances? In Lily's defense it should be said
that the vicissitudes of Elinor's life with Doyle had been kept from her
always. She had but two facts to go on: he had beaten her grandfather as
a young man, for a cause, and he held views as to labor which conflicted
with those of her family.

Months later, when she learned all the truth, it was too late.

"Of course you're being here won't keep me away, if you care to have me
come."

He was all dignity and charm then. They needed youth in that quiet
place. They ought all to be able to forget the past, which was done
with, anyhow. He showed the first genuine interest she had found in her
work at the camp, and before his unexpected geniality the girl opened
like a flower.

And all the time he was watching her with calculating eyes. He was a
gambler with life, and he