she answered, very
seriously, and Darrell, watching, saw in the brown eyes for the first
time the wistful look he had seen in the two portraits.

She soon followed her aunt, but her father and Darrell remained outside
talking of business matters until summoned to dinner. On entering the
house Darrell saw on every hand evidences of the young life in the old
home. There was just a pleasant touch of disorder in the rooms he had
always seen kept with such precision: here a bit of unfinished
embroidery; there a book open, face down, just where the fair reader had
left it; the piano was open and sheets of music lay scattered over it.
From every side came the fragrance of flowers, and in the usually sombre
dining-room Darrell noted the fireplace nearly concealed by palms and
potted plants, the chandelier trimmed with trailing vines, the epergne
of roses and ferns on the table, and the tiny boutonnieres at his plate
and Mr. Underwood's. With a smile of thanks at the happy young face
opposite, he appropriated the one intended for himself, but Mr.
Underwood, picking up the one beside his plate, sat twirling it in his
fingers with a look of mock perplexity.

"Puss has introduced so many of her folderols I haven't got used to them
yet," he said. "How is this to be taken,--before eating, or after?" he
inquired, looking at her from under heavy, frowning brows.

"To be taken! Oh, papa!" she ejaculated; "why don't you put it on as Mr.
Darrell has his? Here, I'll fix it for you!"

With an air of resignation he waited while she fastened the flowers in
the lapel of his coat, giving the latter an approving little pat as she
finished.

"There!" she exclaimed; "you ought to see how nice you look!"

"H'm! I'm glad to hear it," he grunted; "I feel like a prize steer at a
county fair!"

In the laughter which followed Kate joined as merrily as the rest, and
no one but Darrell observed the deepening flush on her cheek or heard
the tremulous sigh when the laughter was ended.

After dinner they adjourned to the large sitting-room, Mr. Underwood
with his pipe, Mrs. Dean with her knitting, and Darrell, while
conversing with the former, watched with a new interest the latter's
placid face, wondering at the depth of feeling concealed beneath that
calm exterior.

As the twilight deepened and conversation began to flag, there came from
the piano a few sweet chords, followed by one of Chopin's dreamy
nocturnes. Mr. Underwood began to doze in hi