answered, and her color deepened and her eyes brightened, though he did
not note it.

"You have changed," she commented. "I should hardly have known you but
for your lips and eyes. You are broader and taller, and a big man, are
you not? How long do you stay in town? Will you spend the summer
here?"

"I wish I could," he answered. "It is pleasant here, but I must work,
you know. I may idle for a little time. You haven't said anything
about the tie."

"Oh, the tie? Don't speak of that. I had the whim to make something
for somebody--I have an embroidering mania on me sometimes--and there
was a chance to dispose of it, you see."

The young man's face fell a little as he looked upon the great,
handsome woman and heard her seemingly careless words. He did not want
to go away, yet what excuse was there for staying? He rose, hat in
hand.

Here, now, was the woman in a quandary. She had not anticipated such
abruptness.

"Don't go yet," she said, impetuously. "I want to talk with you. Tell
me all about the college, and yourself, and your plans. And---about
the tie--I wouldn't have made one for any one else. I remembered your
face. You know I was go often at your home, and I wondered how it
would suit you. You should take that interest as a compliment. And I
am lonesome here, and you are idling, you say, and why should we not be