sorry for that."

Although she laughed a quick, nervous laugh, the words were uttered
as if really meant. Paul suffered, and tried to think of something
non-committal--something which, while not exposing his ignorance of
the real Henley's business, might induce the girl to explain the
situation; but no leading question presented itself. He thought he
could be happy if he could but divert the conversation from its
present awkward drift.

There was a quaintness about the young lady's costume that reminded
Henley of an old portrait. Evidently her attire had been modeled
after that of some remote ancestor, but it was picturesque and
singularly becoming, and Paul found it difficult to avoid staring in
open admiration. Inwardly he concluded that she was a "stunner," but
in no ordinary sense; and despite the novel and somewhat embarrassing
situation, he was conscious of a fascination not clearly accounted
for. Thoughts of the defunct Henley, with his store of inaccessible
knowledge, were discouraging; but then the memory of the girl's
smiles was reassuring; and, come what might, Paul determined to
represent his namesake as creditably as possible.

The loneliness of the country road begot a spirit of confidence, so
that Miss Guir soon appeared in the light of an old friend, to
deceive whom was sacrilege. Mr. Henley realized the enormity of his
conduct each time he glanced at her pretty face, but had not the
courage to undeceive her. And why should he? Was not Dorothy happy?
"Would it be right," he argued, "to upset the girl's tranquillity for
a whim, for a scruple of his own, which had come too late, and which,
for his as well as the girl's peace of mind, had better not have come