e
opposite the porch. He knew at once that Charlotte was one of the
girls. He could not see them very plainly when they passed, for the
moon had not yet risen and the shadows of the trees were dense. He
had glimpses of pale contours and ruffling white draperies floating
around the young man, who walked on the outside. He towered above
them both with stately tenderness. He was smoking, and Anderson noted
that with a throb of anger. He had an old-fashioned conviction that a
man should not smoke when walking with ladies. He was sitting
perfectly motionless when they came alongside, and all at once one of
the girls, Ina, the eldest, perceived him, and started violently with
an exclamation. All three laughed, and the young man said, raising
his hat, "Good-evening, Mr. Anderson."

Anderson returned the salutation. He thought, but was not quite sure,
that Charlotte nodded. He heard, quite distinctly, Ina remark, when
they were scarcely past, in a voice of girlish scorn and merry
ridicule:

"Is the grocer a friend of yours, Mr. Eastman?"

Anderson was sure that he heard a "Hush! he will hear you!" from
Charlotte, before young Frank Eastman replied, like a man:

"Yes, every time, Miss Carroll, if he will do me the honor to let me
call him one. Mr. Anderson is a mighty fine gentleman."

The girl's voice said something in response with a slightly abashed
but still jibing inflection, but Anderson could not catch it. They
passed out of sight, the cigar-smoke lingering in their wake.
Anderson inhaled it with no longer any feeling of disapprobation. He
slowly lit a cigar himself, and smoked and meditated. The presence on
the step above him was for the time dispelled by her own materiality.
The dream eluded the substance. Anderson thought of the young man who
had walked past with a curious feeling of something akin to
gratitude. "Frank Eastman is a fine young fellow," he thought. He had
known him ever since he had been a child. He had been one of the boys
whom everybody knew and liked. He had grown up a village favorite.
The thought flashed through Anderson's mind that here was a possible
husband for Charlotte, and probably a good husband.

"He is an only son," he told himself; "he will have a little money.
He is as good as and better than young men average, and he is
charming, a man to attract any girl."

Anderson, when he had finished his cigar and one more, and had gone
into the house to read a little before going to bed, q