He heard the squeaking of the voice coming over the wire and it seemed to be direct, forceful speech. Miss Georgiana started. “Oh, Mary!” she expostulated, appealingly. Then she became perfectly motionless, intent, and absorbed. Cal divined that Miss Stockwell was saying some strong things to this little sister. That seemed to afford him a melancholy gratification. How trim and neat the slight figure of the girl as she stood there breathlessly! He saw the golden rebellious curls peeping from under her bonnet. Then she spoke again, evidently under different stress. “Mary dear, I’m afraid I’ve been rude, ungracious, to Mr. Thurman. But when I explain you won’t think so badly of me. I ran into some deep stuff here, believe me. . . . Yes, I will start at once and with him—if he’ll take me now. Good-bye.”

She hung up the receiver and stood a moment longer, ponderingly. Then she wheeled swiftly and almost ran up to Cal. It was not the same girl. A blush dyed out the red tints in her cheeks.

“Mr. Cal,” she began, “sister has explained—about my aunt’s picture—how your brothers and cousins refused to meet me—that you alone were kind enough—good enough to come. That those boys had framed up some trick to play on you. . . . I apologize for what I said. I’m ashamed. Won’t you forgive me—and take me to Mary?”

She had seemed to come closer all the time she was speaking, until her appealing hand touched his arm. She lifted her face that suddenly became beautiful and sweet in Cal’s dawning sight. Her violet eyes held him.