"Cheer up, angel," said Rebecca, "he's not dead. He sent a telegram
to-day, and Mother opened it--"

"Naturally," said Margaret, concealing an agony of impatience, as
Rebecca paused apologetically.

"He's with his aunt, at Dayton, up the road here," continued
Rebecca; "and wants you to wire him if he may come down and
spend tomorrow here."

Margaret drew a relieved breath. There was time to turn around,
at least.

"Who is he, sis?" asked Rebecca.

"Why, he's an awfully clever professor, honey," Margaret answered
serenely. "We heard him lecture in Germany this spring, and met him
afterwards. I liked him very much. He's tremendously interesting." She
tried to keep out of her voice the thrill that shook her at the mere
thought of him. Confused pain and pleasure stirred her to the very
heart.--He wanted to come to see her, he must have telephoned Mrs.
Carr-Boldt and asked to call, or he would not have known that she was
at home this week end,--surely that was significant, surely that meant
something! The thought was all pleasure, so great a joy and pride
indeed that Margaret was conscious of wanting to lay it aside, to
think of, dream of, ponder over, when she was alone. But, on the other
hand, there was instantly the miserable conviction that he mustn't be
allowed to come to Weston, no--no--she couldn't have him see her home
and her people on a crowded hot summer Sunday, when the town looked