"Oh, I say!" he exclaimed; and looking up she saw that he had drawn out
his handkerchief and was carefully wiping the edges of the book in his
hand. The action struck her as an unwarranted criticism on her care of
the books, and she said irritably: "It's not my fault if they're dirty."

He turned around and looked at her with reviving interest. "Ah--then
you're not the librarian?"

"Of course I am; but I can't dust all these books. Besides, nobody ever
looks at them, now Miss Hatchard's too lame to come round."

"No, I suppose not." He laid down the book he had been wiping, and stood
considering her in silence. She wondered if Miss Hatchard had sent
him round to pry into the way the library was looked after, and the
suspicion increased her resentment. "I saw you going into her house just
now, didn't I?" she asked, with the New England avoidance of the proper
name. She was determined to find out why he was poking about among her
books.

"Miss Hatchard's house? Yes--she's my cousin and I'm staying there," the
young man answered; adding, as if to disarm a visible distrust: "My name
is Harney--Lucius Harney. She may have spoken of me."

"No, she hasn't," said Charity, wishing she could have said: "Yes, she
has."

"Oh, well----" said Miss Hatchard's cousin with a laugh; and after
another pause, during which it occurred to Charity that her answer
had not been encouraging, he remarked: "You don't seem strong on
architecture."