many to turn and look at him, "Fred! Fred! Why, how are you, old
boy? This is an unexpected pleasure."

The young man thus spoken to made his way through the crowd of
guests, who were closely packed together in that part of the room,
some going in and some trying to get out, and grasping the hand of
Whitford, shook it with great cordiality.

"Miss Birtwell," said the latter, introducing Blanche. "But you know
each other, I see."

"Oh yes, we are old friends. Glad to see you looking so well, Miss
Birtwell."

Blanche bowed with cold politeness, drawing a little back as she did
so, and tightening her hold on Whitford's arm.

Lovering fixed his eyes on the young lady with an admiring glance,
gazing into her face so intently that her color heightened. She
turned partly away, an expression of annoyance on her countenance,
drawing more firmly on the arm of her companion as she did so, and
taking a step toward the door. But Whitford was no longer passive to
her will.

Any one reading the face of Lovering would have seen a change in its
expression, the evidence of some quickly formed purpose, and he
would have seen also something more than simple admiration of the
beautiful girl leaning on the arm of his friend. His manner toward
Whitford became more hearty.