es are old."

She paused a moment.

"Do you know, Mr. Clendon, I fancy that he has been in trouble lately; I
mean, that something is worrying him. Yesterday, I heard him sigh as he
unlocked his door. He used to sing and whistle; but, for the last few
days, he has been quite quiet, and as I came in last evening I heard him
walking up and down his room, as men do when they have something on
their minds. Do you know his name?"

"No," said Mr. Clendon, shaking his head; "he is a comparatively
new-comer. I could find out for you, if you like."

"Oh, no, no!" she said, quickly, and with a touch of colour. "I am not
at all curious. I mean," she explained, "that knowing his name would not
increase my interest in him; quite the reverse. You know what I mean?
But I fancy I am interested in him because I think he may be in trouble.
You see, when one has suffered oneself----"

"Yes, that is the way with you women," said the old man. "In fact, I
suppose that, until you have suffered, you do not become women." He
glanced at the sheets of paper which lay on the little writing-desk and
added, "I am afraid I am keeping you from your work. It was very kind of
you to ask me to stay to tea--and to tell me what you have told me. I
wish I could help you----. But, no, I don't; for, if I could be of any
assistance to you, you would not let me; you are too proud, Miss Grant.
I like you all the better for the fact."

"Oh, but you have helped me, more than you know," Celia said, quickly.
"You don't know what a delight it is to me to hear the violin you play
so beautifully; but, of course, you are an artist."

"Thank you," he said, his voice almost inaudible, and yet with that
peculiar vibrance in it. "I was afraid I worried you."

"No, no," said Celia; "I am always sorry when you leave off. You play me
to sleep sometimes and--and keep me from brooding. Not that I have any
cause to brood," she added, quickly; "for I count myself lucky."

"Yes," he said; "you are lucky; for you have youth, beauty--I beg your
pardon," he apologized with a little bow and a gesture which were
strangely courtly. "And best of all, you have hope; without that, one is
indeed unfortunate."

He rose, and Celia accompanied him to the door; it was only a few steps
distant; but the old man moved towards it as if he had been accustomed
to traversing apartments of a larger size. As Celia opened the door, the
one opposite hers opened at the same moment, and a lady came