tread was heard on the stairs. She came down slowly, and as she
entered the room, Hendrickson was struck with the singular
expression of her face. At the first glance he scarcely recognized
her.

"Are you not well, Miss Loring?" he asked, stepping forward to meet
her.

His manner was warm, and his tones full of sympathy.

She smiled faintly as she answered--

"Not very well. I have a blinding headache."

Still holding the hand she had extended to him in meeting, Mr.
Hendrickson led her to a sofa, and sat down by her side. He would
have retained the hand, but she gently withdrew it, though not in a
way that involved repulsion.

"I am sorry for your indisposition," he said, in a tone of interest
so unusual for him, that Miss Loring lifted her eyes, which had
fallen to the carpet, and looked at him half shyly--half
interrogatingly.

"If you had sent me word that you were not well, Miss Loring"--

He paused, gazing very earnestly upon her face, into which
crimsoning blushes began to come.

"I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Hendrickson. I did not wish to be