This was received with great applause; then every one said good-night,
assuring each sister that it had been a delightful evening; and finally
the last carriage rolled off into the darkness, and the Misses Woodhouse
were left, triumphantly exhausted, to discuss the dinner and the guests.

The rector walked home with Mr. Denner, who was still flushed with the
praise of his singing, so Lois had the carriage all to herself, and tried
to struggle against the fresh impulse of irresolution which Mrs.
Forsythe's whispered "Good-night, Lois; be good to my boy!" had given
her.

She went into the library at the rectory, and, throwing off her wrap, sat
down on the hearth-rug, and determined to make up her mind. But first she
had to put a fresh log on the andirons, and then work away with the
wheezy old bellows, until a leaping flame lighted the shadowy room. The
log was green, and, instead of deciding, she found herself listening to
the soft bubbling noise of the sap, and thinking that it was the little
singing ghosts of the summer birds. Max came and put his head on her
knee, to be petted, and Lois's thoughts wandered off to the dinner party,
and Mr. Denner's singing, and what good things Miss Deborah cooked, and
how much his aunts must miss Gifford; so that she did not even hear the
front door open, or know that Dick Forsythe had entered, until she heard
Max snarl, and some one said in a tone which lacked its usual assurance,
"I--I hope I'm not disturbing you, Miss Lois?"

She was on her feet before he had a chance to help her rise, and looked
at him with the frankest astonishment and dismay.

What would aunt Deely say, what would Miss Deborah think! A young woman
receiving a gentleman alone after ten at night! "Father is not home yet,"