colored leaves and grasses, and lying near it was a plush photograph
album. The rest of the furniture consisted of an ancient hair-cloth
sofa, an old rocking-chair, the arms of which had been tied on with
twine, and a sewing-machine. The windows had cheap lace curtains,
stiff enough to stand alone, and green shades with tinselled
decorations. The plastered walls were whitewashed and the ceiling was
faded sky-blue.

He heard a door close somewhere in the rear, and then with a light step
Harriet Floyd entered.

"Good-morning," she said, slightly embarrassed. "Mother was busy, and
so she asked me to come in."

"I believe we were introduced, in a general way, last night," he said.
"I hope you remember."

"Oh yes, indeed," she made answer.

He thought she was even prettier in the daylight in her simple calico
dress and white apron than she had appeared the evening before, and he
was conscious that the sharp realization of this fact was causing him
to pause unnecessarily long before speaking in his turn. But he simply
could not help it; he experienced a subtle pleasure he could not
explain in watching her warm, slightly flushed face. Her eyes held a
wonderful charm for him. There seemed to be a strange union of forces
between her long lashes and the pupils of her eyes, the like of which
he believed he had never met before.

"I've come to see if I can get my meals here," he said. "It is near my