Norma tapped sharply on the glass, and beckoned to a gentleman on the
opposite pavement, her brow clearing. He nodded gayly in response, and
crossing, in obedience to her summons, entered the house familiarly
without ringing the bell.




CHAPTER II.

All turned expectantly toward the door, pausing in their several
occupations; even Warner's eyes were raised from his book, although his
attention was involuntary and grudging. The attitude of the little
circle attested the influence which the coming man wielded over every
member of it; an influence which extended insensibly to every one with
whom Nesbit Thorne's association was intimate. He was Mrs. Smith's
nephew, and much in the habit, whenever he was in New York, of making
her house his home--having none now of his own.

He was a slender, dark man, with magnificent dark eyes, which had a
power of expression so enthralling as to disarm, or defy, criticism of
the rest of his face. Not one man in fifty could tell whether Nesbit
Thorne was handsome, or the reverse--and for women--ah, well! they knew
best what they thought.

In his air, his carriage, his expression, was that which never fails to
attract and hold attention--force, vitality, individuality. He was
small, but tall men never dwarfed him; plain, but the world--his
world--turned from handsomer men with indifference, to heap
consideration upon him. To borrow the forceful vernacular of the