n her nerves, just
as it had done at their previous meeting.

His compelling personality, that had burst so unexpectedly and so
intimately into her life, inspired in her the wish to believe in
him. But his bitterness toward her brother, notwithstanding their
evident intimacy, made her hesitate. He seemed so sincere and so
straightforward that her impulse was to meet him with equal frankness.
But she was still a little doubtful, a little fearful.

She felt that she must know more about the mysterious relation, with
its apparent contradictions, between him and Felix before she could
give him the confidence he seemed to desire.

"It is all very strange," she said, "and after you are gone I shall
wonder whether I have been dreaming or whether some one named 'Hugh
Gordon' has really been here saying such bitter things about my
brother. Does he know that you have such a poor opinion of him?"

"Does he know it?" Gordon exclaimed, facing her impulsively and
speaking with emphasis. "Indeed he does! He knows just how much I--but
there! I promised to bridle my tongue. Well, he has had a great deal
more information upon that head than you have!"

"Well, then, I'll have to forgive you the hard things you've said
about him to me, since you've been just as frank with him first!"

"Thank you! But you know they are all true, Penelope!"

She drew back, a little offended that he should insist a second time
upon this point, and there was a touch of scornfulness in her tones as
she rejoined with dignity:

"I do not deny that my brother has faults, but is that any reason why
I should discuss them with a stranger?"

"Don't say that, Penelope!"

His cry came so straightly and so simply from his heart that its
honest feeling and the look of pain upon his face moved her to quick
contrition and to warmer confidence. Surely, she told herself, there
could be no doubting his ardent friendliness toward her mother and
herself, whatever might be his attitude toward Felix.

"I have known about you such a long time," he was hurrying on in
pleading speech, "that you are like an old friend--no, more than that,
like a sister in my thought of you, and I want you to feel that way
toward me. It may seem strange to you, Penelope, but it is true, that
you and your mother are nearer and dearer to me than any one else in
the world. That's why it hurts when you call me a stranger, although I
know I can hardly seem more than that to you, as yet."

He