venture out."

"How d'you do?" said Carlisle, in the voice of "manner," a rising voice,
modulated, distant and superior. And over her shoulder, she addressed
the little Jew girls, with an air of more than perfect ease:

"Well, then, good-bye! Be sure to catch her the new one to-morrow...."

She had seen that the strange young man was smiling. And by that she
knew that he remembered their last meeting, and wanted to trade upon her
queer weakness at that time, pretending that he and she were pleasant
acquaintances together. Presently she should inform him better as to
that. But why, oh, why, that small flinching at the sight of him, the
very man she had fared into the downpour to explode, not pausing even to
mourn her lover's going?...

"I'm a search-party of one," said Dr. Vivian, throwing wider the door,
"for Mr. Pond. I wondered if he could have got lost, somewhere down
here--he's never turned up yet."

"Mr. Pond?"

"The director of the Settlement, you know, when it opens for business
in the fall. He happened to be in Washington, and was good enough to run
down to-day to make us a little address."

"Oh."

Carlisle found herself, beyond the door, in a quaint high-ceiled court,
enfolded with peristyles in two long rows, and paved with discolored