It evidently did, for Mr. Hampton stared at her for fully a minute in
an amazement too profound for fit expression in words. Then he
swallowed something in his throat.

"Show the gentleman up," he said, shortly, and sat down to wait.

The Rev. Howard Wynkoop was neither giant nor dwarf, but the very
fortunate possessor of a countenance which at once awakened confidence
in his character. He entered the room quietly, rather dreading this
interview with one of Mr. Hampton's well-known proclivities, yet in
this case feeling abundantly fortified in the righteousness of his
cause. His brown eyes met the inquisitive gray ones frankly, and
Hampton waved him silently toward a vacant chair.

"Our lines of labor in this vineyard being so entirely opposite," the
latter said, coldly, but with intended politeness, "the honor of your
unexpected call quite overwhelms me. I shall have to trouble you to
speak somewhat softly in explanation of your present mission, so as not
to disturb a young girl who chances to be sleeping in the room beyond."

Wynkoop cleared his throat uneasily, his naturally pale cheeks flushed.

"It was principally upon her account I ventured to call," he explained
in sudden confidence. "Might I see her?"

Hampton's watchful eyes swept the others face suspiciously, and his
hands clinched.

"Relative?" he asked gravely.