turned the housekeeper, adding, with a slight
frown on her comely face: "The doctor is quite fond of him. He has been
away for the last three months, and the house has been so nice and quiet
without him."

"By the way you speak one wouldn't fancy that you liked this Mr. Harry,"
laughed Dorothy.

The housekeeper turned grimly away.

"But what is he like?" persisted Dorothy, pursuing the subject.

"Is he young--is he handsome?"

"Handsome is as handsome does," replied Mrs. Kemp, ominously.

"Doesn't he do handsome?" retorted Dorothy, throwing back her curly head
with a rich mellow laugh, adding: "But what is he like, anyhow? Is he
dark or fair, young or old?"

"No doubt he will strike you as being quite handsome," returned Mrs.
Kemp, thoughtfully. "He has very dark eyes and dark waving hair. Young
girls would consider him quite good looking."

"And will he, too, live in the house with us?" asked Dorothy, curiously.

"You had better ask Doctor Bryan," responded Mrs. Kemp, evasively.

The next morning, as Dorothy stepped out into the garden to gather
flowers for the breakfast-table, she came suddenly upon a young man
pacing up and down under the trees with his hands in his pockets,
smoking a cigar.

When he heard the light, pattering footsteps he wheeled round, and was
just about to raise his hat to the vision of girlish loveliness before
him when a low cry of intense astonishment broke from his lips.

"Dorothy Glenn, by all that is wonderful!" he exclaimed.

The amazement was mutual.

"Harry Langdon!" the girl shrieked, turning pale as death.

"What in the name of Heaven brings you to this house?" he cried,
hoarsely, catching her wrist and holding it in a tight grip.

"You have no right to know, after the way you deserted me in my peril,"
flashed Dorothy.

"But how came you here," he repeated, "of all places in the world? I
must know!"

The girl briefly outlined how it happened, her anger rising against her
questioner with every word; and as he listened his face was a study.

"Dorothy," he said, in his low, smooth voice, "you accuse me of not
trying to save you when you fell overboard. But let me speak just one
word in my own defense: You remember just what was taking place as we
reached the deck. You heard the shot, but you fainted and did not know
what happened. The bullet whizzed by me, and I fell back on the deck
stunned--unconscious. I did not recover until long after the steamer
reached New Yo