that was unpleasant and be happy in his presence.

A perfect content grew upon her; she forgot her fears--her loneliness--
her quarrel with Fred; she remembered only the happy company of the
present.

Under the intoxication of the man's presence she ceased to be the
tired, discouraged, irritable woman, and became once more the Evelyn
Grant whose vivacity and wit had made her conspicuous in the brightest
company.

She tried to remind herself of some of the unpleasant things that
neighborhood gossip said of Rance Belmont--of Mrs. Corbett's dislike of
him--but in the charm of his presence they all faded into vague
unrealities.

There was flattery, clever, hidden flattery, which seemed like
adoration, in every word he spoke, every tone of his voice, every
glance of his coal-black eyes, that seemed in some way to atone for the
long, gray, monotonous days that had weighed so heavily upon her
spirits.

"Are you always frightened when you are left alone?" he asked her.
Every word was a caress, the tone of his voice implying that she should
never be left alone, the magnetism of his presence assuring her that
she would never be left alone again.

"I was never left alone in the evening before," she said. "I thought I
was very brave until to-night, but it was horrible--it makes me shudder
to think of it."