and she looks just what she was
born,--a respectable female."

Whereby Dr. Warren continued to feel himself baffled.

"She only goes out for exercise after dark, Mary," he said. "Also in the
course of conversation I have discovered that she believes every word of
the Bible literally, and would be alarmed if one could not accept the
Athanasian Creed. She is rather wounded and puzzled by the curses it
contains, but she feels sure that it would be wrong to question anything
in the Church Service. Her extraordinariness is wholly her
incompatibleness."

Gradually they had established the friendship Emily had thought
possible. Once or twice Dr. Warren took tea with her. Her unabashed and
accustomed readiness of hospitality was as incompatible with her
circumstances as all the rest. She had the ease of a woman who had
amiably poured out tea for afternoon callers all her life. Women who
were uncertain of themselves were not amiably at ease with small social
amenities. Her ingenuous talk and her fervent italics were an absolute
delight to the man who was studying her. He, too, had noticed the
carriage of her head Jane Cupp had deplored.

"I should say she was well born," he commented to his wife. "She holds
herself as no common woman could."

"Ah! I haven't a doubt that she is well born, poor soul."

"No, not 'poor soul.' No woman who is as happy as she is needs pity.
Since she has had time to rest, she looks radiant."

In course of time, however, she was less radiant. Most people know
something of waiting for answers to letters written to foreign lands. It
seems impossible to calculate correctly as to what length of time must
elapse before the reply to the letter one sent by the last mail can
reach one. He who waits is always premature in the calculation he makes.
The mail should be due at a certain date, one is so sure. The letter
could be written on such a day and posted at once. But the date
calculated for arrives, passes,--the answer has not come. Who does not
remember?

Emily Walderhurst had passed through the experience and knew it well.
But previously the letters she had sent had been of less vital
importance. When the replies to them had lingered on their way she had,
it is true, watched eagerly ', for the postman, and had lived restlessly
between the arrivals of the mails, but she had taught herself
resignation to the inevitable. Now life had altered its aspect and its
significance. She had tried, with the ai