s she smiled up at him.

"Do you think I could keep any thing so nice from you for long? It seems
to make every thing nicer when you know it too. She is coming
to-morrow,--only think,--to-morrow,--just twenty-one hours more now. I
can hardly wait!"

"It will be a great happiness to her, surely, to see you again,"
said Denham.

"That's what she writes in her letter. At least she says: 'I shall be
glad to see you again, Phebe, my dear' Isn't that nice? 'Phebe, my dear,'
she says. That is a great deal for Gerald to say."

"Is it? But I believe some young ladies are less effusive with their pens
than with their tongues."

"It isn't Gerald's nature ever to be effusive. But oh, I'm so glad she's
coming! I only got her letter last night. See, doesn't she write a nice
hand?" And cautiously, lest any one else should see too, Phebe slipped an
envelope into Denham's hand. He bent back behind the lace curtains to
inspect it.

"Do you generally carry about your letters in your pocket, Miss Phebe?"

"No, only Gerald's. I love so always to have something of hers near me.
Isn't it a nice hand?"

Halloway looked silently at the upright, angular, large script. "It's
legible, certainly."

"But you don't like it?"

"Miss Phebe, I am torn between conflicting truth and politeness. It is
like a man's hand, if I must say something."

"And so are her letters like a man's. Read it and see. Oh, she wouldn't
mind! There is nothing in it, and yet somehow it seems just like Gerald.
Do read it. Oh, I want you to. Please, please do."

And led half by curiosity, half by the eagerness in Phebe's pretty face,
Denham opened the letter and read, Phebe glancing over it with him as if
she couldn't bear to lose sight of it an instant.

"DEAR PHEBE," so ran the letter, "your favor of 9th inst. rec. I
had no idea of intruding ourselves upon you when I asked you to look
up rooms, but as you seem really to want us"--("seem!" whispered
Phebe, putting her finger on the word with a pout)--"I can only say
we shall be very glad to come to you. You may look for Olly and
myself Friday, July 15th, by the P.M. train. Olly isn't really ill, only
run down. He is as horrid a little bear as ever. All are well, and
started last week for Narragansett Pier. I shall rejoice to get away
from the art school and guilds, which keep on even in this intemperate
weather, and I shall be glad to see you again, Phebe, my dear,"
(Phebe looked up triumphantly in Denham's fac