saying to himself that this was the lady of his dreams, the enchantress
of the kiss, the woman who loved him--but somehow it did not seem to his
senses to be Celia.

She turned, and moved a step or two in his direction before she
mechanically lifted her eyes and saw who was standing in her doorway.
She stopped short, and regarded him. Her face was in the shadow, and he
could make out nothing of its expression, save that there was a general
effect of gravity about it.

"I cannot receive you," she said. "You must go away. You have no
business to come like this without sending up your card."

Theron smiled at her. The notion of taking in earnest her inhospitable
words did not at all occur to him. He could see now that her face had
vexed and saddened lines upon it, and the sharpness of her tone remained
in his ears. But he smiled again gently, to reassure her.

"I ought to have sent up my name, I know," he said, "but I couldn't bear
to wait. I just saw your name on the register and--you WILL forgive me,
won't you?--I ran to you at once. I know you won't have the heart to
send me away!"

She stood where she had halted, her arms behind her, looking him fixedly
in the face. He had made a movement to advance, and offer his hand in
greeting, but her posture checked the impulse. His courage began to
falter under her inspection.

"Must I really go down again?" he pleaded. "It's a crushing penalty to
suffer for such little indiscretion. I was so excited to find you were