olding a dialogue with a hypothetical male
guest, she led him out into the hall, still within sight of Mr. Warne's
couch, and was in the midst of a scene as inspiredly clever as anything
she had ever done at college, where she had been the pride of a dramatic
club whose fame had waxed greater than that of any similar organization
for many years, when the front door of the house suddenly opened, and a
gust of chilly March air rushed in with the person entering.

Georgiana wheeled--to find herself confronting the amused gaze of her
boarder, Mr. E. C. Jefferson, as read the address upon his mail.

Mr. Jefferson was by this time, after a month under the roof of the old
manse, well established as a member of the household, though after the
somewhat remote fashion to be expected of a man whose absorbing work
filled most of his waking hours. He closed the door quickly as he caught
sight of Georgiana in her masquerade, removed his hat, and bent his head
before the cerise velvet.

Georgiana, blushing as vividly as if it were the first time mortal man
had ever beheld her pretty shoulders, threw him a laughing look,
murmured: "Dress parade in borrowed finery, Mr. Jefferson; don't let the
blaze of colour put your eyes out!" and retreated toward the living-room
where her father sat, much amused by the situation.

She was followed by her boarder's reply: "I find myself still happily
retaining the use of my eyes, Miss Warne. You need not be too much in
haste; it is very dull outside, I assure you."

He went on up the stairs, but she had caught his smile, momentarily
illumining a face which was ordinarily rather grave. Georgiana closed
the living-room door upon the sight of the lithe figure rapidly
ascending the staircase without a glance behind. As she faced her father
she assumed the expression of a merry child caught in mischief.

"Our new lodger has certainly come upon me in all sorts of situations,
not to mention disguises," she remarked, "but this is the first time he
has met me in the role of leading lady on the melodramatic stage. Please
unhook me, Father Davy; the play is over, and it's time to get the
pot-roast simmering. And what do you say to inviting lovely Jeannette
Crofton to visit us? Would it be too hard on you?"

"Not at all, my dear. I should be glad to see your Uncle Thomas's
daughter. Invite her, by all means. You have far too little young
companionship; it will do you good to have a girl of your own age in t