ake herself think
she was getting ready to join in Dory's work when he returned. She heard
footsteps just round the corner, and looked up. She and Ross Whitney were
face to face.

There was no chance for evasion. He, with heightened color, lifted his
hat; she, with a nonchalance that made her proud of herself, smiled and
stretched out her hand. "Hello, Ross," said she, languidly friendly.
"When did _you_ come to town?" And she congratulated herself that her
hair had gone up so well that morning and that her dress was one of her
most becoming--from Paris, from Paquin--a year old, it is true, but
later than the latest in Saint X and fashionable even for Sherry's at
lunch time.

Ross, the expert, got himself together and made cover without any
seeming of scramble; but his not quite easy eyes betrayed him to her.
"About two hours ago," replied he.

"Is Theresa with you?" She gazed tranquilly at him as she fired this
center shot. She admired the coolness with which he received it.

"No; she's up at her father's place--on the lake shore," he answered. He,
too, was looking particularly well, fresh yet experienced, and in dress a
model, with his serge of a strange, beautiful shade of blue, his red tie
and socks, and his ruby-set cuff-links. "Mr. Howland is ill, and she's
nursing him. I'm taking a few days off--came down to try to sell father's
place for him."

"You're going to sell Point Helen?" said Adelaide, politely regretful.
"Then I suppose we shan't see your people here any more. Your mother'll
no doubt spend most of her time abroad, now that Janet is married there."

Ross did not answer immediately. He was looking into the distance, his
expression melancholy. His abstraction gave Adelaide a chance to verify
the impression she had got from a swift but femininely penetrating first
glance. Yes, he did look older; no, not exactly older--sad, rather.
Evidently he was unhappy, distinctly unhappy. And as handsome and as
tasteful as ever--the band of his straw hat, the flower in his
buttonhole, his tie, his socks--all in harmony; no ostentation, just the
unerring, quiet taste of a gentleman. What a satisfactory person to look
at! To be sure, his character--However, character has nothing to do with
the eye-pleasures, and they are undeniably agreeable. Then there were his
manners, and his mind--such a man of the world! Of course he wasn't for
one instant to be compared with Dory--who was? Still, it was a pity that
Dory had