e the
young man. He had a pitiful heart towards women, and at the sound of
the little, stifled sob he pressed Lily's arm more closely under his
own.

"Don't, Lily," he said, softly.

Lily sobbed again; she almost leaned her head towards George's
shoulder. She made a little, irresistible, nestling motion, like a
child.

"I can't help it," she said, brokenly. "She did look at me so."

"Don't mind her one bit, Lily," said George. He half laughed at the
memory of Aunt Maria's face, even while the tender tone sounded in
his voice. "Don't mind that poor old maid. Neither of us were to
blame. I suppose it did look as if we had taken possession of her
premises, and she was astonished, that was all. How funny she looked,
poor thing, with her bonnet awry!"

"I know she must think I have done something dreadful," sobbed Lily.

"Nonsense!" George said again, and his pressure of her arm tightened.
"I was just going when she came in, anyway. There is nothing at all
to be ashamed of, only--" He hesitated.

"What?" asked Lily.

"Well, to tell you the truth, Lily," he said then, "it does look to
me as if Miss Edgham's headache was only another way of telling me
she did not wish to see me."

"Oh, I guess not," said Lily.

"For some reason or other she does not seem to like me," George said,
with rather a troubled voice; but he directly laughed.

"I don't see any reason why she shouldn't like you," Lily said.

They had reached Lily's door, and the light from the sitting-room
windows shone on her lovely face, past which the snow drifted like a
white veil.

"Well, I think she doesn't," George said, carelessly, "but you are
mighty good to say you see no reason why she shouldn't. You and I
have always been good friends, haven't we, Lily, ever since we went
to school together?"

"Yes," replied Lily, eagerly, although she did not like the word
friends, which seemed to smite on the heart. She lifted her face to
the young man's, and her lips pouted almost imperceptibly. It could
not have been said that she was inviting a kiss, but no man could
have avoided kissing her. George Ramsey kissed her as naturally as he
breathed. There seemed to be nothing else to do. It was one of the
inevitables of life. Then Lily opened the door and slid into the
house with a tremulous good-night.

George himself felt tremulous, and also astonished and vexed with
himself. He had certainly not meant to kiss Lily Merrill. But it
flashed across his