Coming arm in arm down the road were two small figures. Mr. Denner's
sight was not what it once was; he fumbled in the breast of his
bottle-green overcoat for his glasses, as a suspicion of the truth
dawned upon him.

His song died upon his lips, and he turned irresolutely, as though to
fly, but it was too late; he had recognized at the same moment Miss
Deborah and Miss Ruth Woodhouse. By no possibility could he say which he
had seen first.

He advanced to meet them, but the spring had gone from his tread and
the light from his eye; he was thrown back upon his perplexities. The
sisters, still arm in arm, made a demure little bow, and stopped to say
"Good-morning," but Mr. Denner was evidently depressed and absent-minded.

"I wonder what's the matter with William Denner, sister?" Miss Ruth said,
when they were out of hearing.

"Perhaps he's troubled about his housekeeping," answered Miss Deborah.
"I should think he might be, I must say. That Mary of his does keep him
looking so! And I have no doubt she is wasteful; a woman who is
economical with her needle and thread is pretty apt not to be saving in
other things."

"What a pity he hasn't a wife!" commented Miss Ruth. "Adele Dale says
he's never been in love. She says that that affair with Gertrude Drayton
was a sort of inoculation, and he's been perfectly healthy ever since."

"Very coarse in dear Adele to speak in that way," said Miss Deborah