is, and such a nice little
hostess. Do you notice how neat everything is? O Philip!--here is
somebody else coming!"

"Coming to the inn?"

"Yes. O, I'm afraid so. Here's one of these original little carriages
crawling along, and it has stopped, and the people are getting out.
Poor storm-stayed people, like ourselves."

"They will come to a fire, which we didn't," said Philip, leaving his
post now and placing himself at the back of Lois's chair, where he too
could see what was going on in front of the house. A queer little
vehicle had certainly stopped there, and somebody very much muffled had
got out, and was now helping a second person to alight, which second
person must be a woman; and she was followed by another woman, who
alighted with less difficulty and less attention, though she had two or
three things to carry.

"I pity women who travel in the Alps with their maids!" said Mr.
Dillwyn.

"Philip, that first one, the gentleman, had a little bit--just a little
bit--the air of your friend, Mr. Caruthers. He was so muffled up, one
could not tell what he was like; but somehow he reminded me of Mr.
Caruthers."

"I thought Tom was _your_ friend?"

"Friend? No. He was an acquain'tance; he was never my friend, I think."

"Then his name raises no tender associations in your mind?"

"Why, no!" said Lois, with a gay little laugh. "No, indeed. But I liked
him very well at one time; and I--_think_--he liked me."

"Poor Tom!"

"Why do you say that?" Lois asked merrily. "He is not poor; he has
married a Dulcimer. I never can hear her name without thinking of
Nebuchadnezzar's image! He has forgotten me long ago."

"I see you have forgotten him," said Dillwyn, bending down till his
face was very near Lois's.

"How should I not? But I did like him at one time, quite well. I
suppose I was flattered by his attentions, which I think were rather
marked. And you know, at that time I did not know you."

Lois's voice fell a little; the last sentence being given with a
delicate, sweet reserve, which spoke much more than effusion. Philip's
answer was mute.

"Besides," said Lois, "he is a sort of man that I never could have
liked beyond a certain point. He is a weak character; do you know it,
Philip?"

"I know it. I observe, that is the last fault women will forgive in a
man."

"Why should they?" said Lois. "What have you, where you have not
strength? It is impossible to love where you cannot respect. Or if you
love,