ew idea in silence for a moment. We turned in at
Lucy's street.

"How long shall you be here, Miss Vars?" asked Mr. Jennings. "And,
seriously, may I call some evening?"

How could I refuse such a friendly and straightforward request?

"Why, yes," I heard myself saying, man though he was, "I suppose so. I
should be glad, only----"

"Only what?"

"Only--well----" We were at Lucy's gate. I stopped beneath the
lamp-post. "I don't believe my sister has told you all about me, Mr.
Jennings."

"Of course not!" He laughed. "I don't want her to. I don't want to know
all that's in a new book I am about to read. It's pleasanter to discover
the delights myself."

I felt conscience-stricken. There were no delights left in me. I ought
to tell him. However, all I replied was, "How nicely you put things!"

And he: "Do I? Well--when may I come?"

"Why--any night. Only I'm not a very bright book--rather dreary. Truly.
I warn you. You found me in tears, remember."

"Don't think again about that," he said to me. "Please. Listen. I always
try to take home to the little white-haired lady something pleasant
every night--a rose or a couple of pinks, or an incident of some sort to
please her, never anything dreary. _You_, looking at the picture of the
little sick girl, are to be the gift tonight." And then suddenly
embarrassed, he added hastily, "I'm afraid you're awfully wet. I ought
to be shot. Perhaps you preferred to ride. You're covered with mist. And
perhaps it's spoiled something." He glanced at my hat.

"No, it hasn't," I assured him, "and good night. I can get in all
right."

"Oh, let me----"

"No, please," I insisted.

"Very well," he acquiesced. And I gave him my hand and sped up the walk.

He waited until the door was opened to me, and then, "Good night," came
his clear, pleasant voice to me from out of the rainy dark.

I went straight upstairs to my room. I felt as if I had just drunk long
and deep of pure cold water. Tired and travel-worn I had been, uncertain
of my way, disheartened, spent; and then suddenly across my path had
appeared an unexpected brook, crystal clear, soul-refreshing. I had
rested by it a moment, listened to its cheerful murmur, lifted up a
little of its coolness in the hollow of my hand, and drunk. I went up
to my room with a lighter heart than I had known for months, walked over
to the window, raised it, and let in a little of the precious mistiness
that had enshrouded me for the last hal