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 that sat so well on his graceful person. “I can only say that I am sorry you yourself should regret it so little, and that I hope it will not disturb our pleasant acquaintance during the weeks that remain to me.”

She bowed slightly with a dignified gesture that often served her as a reply, and he took a step toward her.

“Would we not better come in?” he suggested. “The sun is gone, and your dress is thin. Let me send Henry after the chairs,” and his eyes dropped to her hands again. They were nearly hidden by the green wool, but the long needle quivered like a leaf in the wind; she could not pass it between the thread and her white forefinger. He hesitated a moment, glanced at her face, smiled inscrutably, and deliberately reseated himself.

“What in the world could I do, you see?” he inquired meditatively, as if that had been the subject under discussion for