finished, and her face became ashen in color. She looked at Van
Berg with a strange expression as he, unconscious of her agitation,
answered:

"Yes, I'm coming," and moved away.

"My dear Miss Burton," said the lady with whom she was speaking,
"you are ill; you look ready to faint. This excitement has been
a greater strain upon you than you have realized."

"Perhaps I had better go to my room," faltered the young lady; and
she fled with a precipitancy that her companion could not understand.

Ida Mayhew also witnessed this unexpected bit of mystery, and it
puzzled her not a little. She had left the parlor and was standing
in the hall-way when her cousin's voice summoned his friend after
his familiar fashion. Why should this stranger look at Mr. Van
Berg as if the sound of his Christian name were a mortal wound? Or
was that a mere coincidence--and in reaction from excitement and
unwonted effort had she suddenly taken ill? For a wonder, she
thought more about Miss Burton than herself that afternoon. She
had decided from the first that she did not like this new-comer.
That point had been settled by the fact that the artist's first
impressions concerning her had evidently been favorable, and she
remembered that his earliest glances and words in regard to herself
had been anything but complimentary.