his presence seeming
only to add to Miss Moreley's nervousness and evident irritation.

What was she to do? How could she save herself now? Why indeed had she
done this foolish thing? She took the letter from her pocket to read it
once more, hoping that some suggestion might spring from it, some
possible means for her escape be brought to light.

"Miraculous as it may appear to you," he wrote, dating his letter from
Newport, "I have met the image of my early playmate! It was at a
garden-party, yesterday. At first it seemed impossible that two such
faces could exist. I was on the point of rushing to her, clasping her in
my arms, and hailing her with all the warmth that would only be natural
upon discovering my long-lost Jennie, but some prudent voice suggested
asking for an introduction first. I did so. To my astonishment, the name
was not Jennings at all, but Bathersea, and her acknowledgement of my
impressive bow and more expressive smile was as chilly as a winter
morning. I took occasion to introduce my name into the conversation,
fearing that she might have misunderstood it. No light of intelligence
beamed from her lovely eyes. I referred to my college days (and I
suspect she took me for a Freshman), I hinted at Stillton, I even
suggested that we had met as babies; but she only said that her
recollection did not extend to that early period, and left me--for what?
it is humiliating, but I will acknowledge it--for another fellow. This
at last convinced me that she could not be my Jennie. Her resemblance to
the photograph, however, was perfect,--really startling. In justice I
must add that she was lovely. It is the face that has captivated me, not
the girl; she rather snubbed me,--but that face! I never saw half so
much beauty in one face before."

It was bad enough that he should have actually met the girl whose
picture she had been cowardly enough to send in place of her own, but
what followed literally chilled the blood in her veins. He was coming!
Coming to Stillton! Coming to find her! Was actually on the way at that
moment to claim her acquaintance,--perhaps to show her letters and
reveal all her deceit to that inexorable papa of hers should she
disclaim all knowledge of him, or to make matters even more difficult to
explain should she confess the truth of their relations. "Heavens!" she
exclaimed, in fright. "What shall I do? what shall I do?" Her time for
action was fast growing short. The afternoon was rapidl