herself, as with a beating heart she descended the stairs.

A moment more, and Maggie stood on the threshhold of No. 40. Seated
upon the sofa was Madam Conway, her purple satin seeming to have
taken a wide sweep, and her face betokening the immense degree of
satisfaction she felt in being there with the stylish, elegant-looking
stranger who stood at her side, with his deep, expressive eyes fixed
upon the door expectantly. Maggie knew him in a moment--knew it was
Arthur Carrollton; and, turning pale, she started backward, while he
advanced forward, and, offering her his hand, looked down upon her
with a winning smile, saying, as he did so: "Excuse my familiarity.
You are Maggie Miller, I am sure."

For an instant Maggie could not reply, but soon becoming composed
she received the stranger gracefully, and then taking the chair he
politely brought her she listened while her grandmother told that
he had arrived at Montreal two weeks before; that he had reached
Hillsdale that morning, an hour or two after their departure, and,
learning their destination, had followed them in the cars; that she
had taken the liberty of informing Mrs. Morton of his arrival, and
that lady had of course extended to him an invitation to be present at
her party.

"Which invitation I accept, provided Miss Maggie allows me to be her
escort," said the young man, and again his large black eyes rested
admiringly upon her.

Maggie had anticipated a long, quiet talk with Henry Warner, and,
wishing the Englishman anywhere but there, she answered coldly, "I
cannot well decline your escort, Mr. Carrollton, so of course I accept