ated, her red lips parted over her little white teeth in a smile
of comfort as she cuddled within Dosia's half-bare round white arm,
while Mr. Sutton, drawing his chair up very close, leaned over Dosia
with eyes for nobody else, his round face getting brick-red at times
with suppressed emotion, though he tried to keep up his part in an
amiable if desultory conversation. Lois reclined languidly in an
easy-chair, and Justin alternately played with and scolded the
irrepressible Redge, in the intervals of discourse.

Through the long open windows they watched the sky, which seemed to
darken or grow light as fitfully, in the progress of the oncoming
storm, the wind lifted the vines on the piazza and flapped them down
again; the trees bent in straightly slanting lines, with foam-tossing
of green and white from the maples; still it did not rain. Presently
from where Dosia sat she caught sight of a passer-by on the other side
of the street--a tall, straight, well-set-up figure with the easy,
erect carriage of a soldier. He stopped suddenly when he was opposite
the house, looked over at it, and seemed to hesitate; then he moved
on hastily, only to stop the next instant and hesitate once more. This
time he crossed over with a quick, decided step.

"Why, here's Girard!" cried Justin, rising with alacrity. His voice
came back from the hall. "Awfully glad you took us on your way.
Leverich told you where I lived? You'll have to stay now until the
storm is over. Lois, this is Mr. Girard. You know Sutton, of course.
Dosia----"

"I have already met Mr. Girard," said Dosia, turning very white, but
speaking in a clear voice. This time it was she who did not see the
half-extended hand, which immediately dropped to his side, though he
bowed with politely murmured assent. Stepping back to a chair half
across the room, he seated himself by Justin.

A wave of resentment, greater than anything that she had ever felt
before, had surged over Dosia at the sight of him, as his eyes, with a
sort of quick, veiled questioning in them, had for an instant met
hers--resentment as for some deep, irremediable wrong. Her cheeks and
lips grew scarlet with the proudly surging blood, she held her head
high, while Mr. Sutton looked at her as if bewitched--though he turned
from her a moment to say:

"Weren't you up on the Sunset Drive this afternoon, Girard?"

"Yes; I thought you didn't see me," said the other lightly, himself
turning to respond to a ques