"She always sets Ned to scolding me," was the bitter thought in her
heart as she went slowly back to the parlor, where they had left Miss
Deane, Edward following, sighing inwardly at the change in his darling
always wrought by that unwelcome presence in the house.

"How the wind roars down the chimney!" Miss Deane remarked as her host
and hostess re-entered the room, where she was comfortably seated in an
easy-chair beside the glowing grate. "I fear to-morrow will prove a
stormy day; but in that case I shall feel all the more delighted with my
comfortable quarters here,--all the more grateful to you, Mr. Travilla,
for saving me from a long detention in one of those miserable little
country taverns, where I should have died of _ennui_."

"You seem kindly disposed, my dear madam, to make a great deal of a
small service," returned Edward gallantly.

But Zoe said not a word. She stood gazing into the fire, apparently lost
in thought; but the color deepened on her cheek, and a slight frown
contracted her brows.

Presently she turned to her guest, saying courteously, "You must be
weary with your journey, Miss Deane: would you like to retire?"

"Thank you, I should," was the reply; and thereupon the good-nights were
said, and they sought their respective rooms.

"You are not displeased with me, dear?" Zoe asked, lifting her eyes
inquiringly to her husband's face as she stood before their
dressing-room fire with his arm about her waist: "you are looking so
very grave."