was my mother, you know."

I was glad to have her talk of her mother. I therefore answered her in a
way to prolong the conversation.

"Yes, your mother was small," I admitted, "but never thin or pallid. She
was like a fairy among us schoolgirls. Does it seem odd to hear so old a
woman as I speak of herself as a schoolgirl?"

"Oh, no!" she said, but there was no heart in her voice.

"I had almost forgotten those days till I happened to hear the name of
Althea mentioned the other day," I proceeded, seeing I must keep up the
conversation if we were not to sit in total silence. "Then my early
friendship with your mother recurred to me, and I started up--as I
always do when I come to any decision, my dear--and sent that telegram,
which I hope I have not followed by an unwelcome presence."

"Oh, no," she repeated, but this time with some feeling; "we need
friends, and if you will overlook our shortcomings--But you have not
taken off your hat. What will Loreen say to me?"

And with a sudden nervous action as marked as her late listlessness, she
jumped up and began busying herself over me, untying my bonnet and
laying aside my bundles, which up to this moment I had held in my hands.

"I--I am so absent-minded," she murmured. "I--I did not think--I hope
you will excuse me. Loreen would have given you a much better welcome."

"Then Loreen should have been here," I said, with a smile. I could not
restrain this slight rebuke, yet I liked the girl; notwithstanding
everything I had heard and her own odd and unaccountable behavior, there
was a sweetness in her face, when she chose to smile, that proved an
irresistible attraction. And then, for all her absent-mindedness and
abstracted ways, she was such a lady! Her plain dress, her restrained
manner, could not hide this fact. It was apparent in every line of her
thin but graceful form and in every inflection of her musical but
constrained voice. Had I seen her in my own parlor instead of between
these bare and moldering walls, I should have said the same thing: "She
is such a lady!" But this only passed through my mind at the time. I was
not studying her personality, but trying to understand why my presence
in the house had so visibly disturbed her. Was it the embarrassment of
poverty, not knowing how to meet the call made so suddenly upon it? I
hardly thought so. Fear would not enter into a sensation of this kind,
and fear was what I had seen in her face before the front door