A moment more, and Maggie stood on the threshhold of No. 40.  Seated upon the sofa was Madam Conway, her purple satin seeming to have taken a wide sweep, and her face betokening the immense degree of satisfaction she felt in being there with the stylish, elegant-looking stranger who stood at her side, with his deep, expressive eyes fixed upon the door expectantly.  Maggie knew him in a moment—­knew it was Arthur Carrollton; and, turning pale, she started backward, while he advanced forward, and, offering her his hand, looked down upon her with a winning smile, saying, as he did so:  “Excuse my familiarity.  You are Maggie Miller, I am sure.”

For an instant Maggie could not reply, but soon becoming composed she received the stranger gracefully, and then taking the chair he politely brought her she listened while her grandmother told that he had arrived at Montreal two weeks before; that he had reached Hillsdale that morning, an hour or two after their departure, and, learning their destination, had followed them in the cars; that she had taken the liberty of informing Mrs. Morton of his arrival, and that lady had of course extended to him an invitation to be present at her party.

“Which invitation I accept, provided Miss Maggie allows me to be her escort,” said the young man, and again his large black eyes rested admiringly upon her.

Maggie had anticipated a long, quiet talk with Henry Warner, and, wishing the Englishman anywhere but there, she answered coldly, “I cannot well decline your escort, Mr. Carrollton, so of course I accept it.”

Madam Conway bit her lip, but Mr. Carrollton, who was prepared for anything from Maggie Miller, was not in the least displeased, and, consulting his diamond-set watch, which pointed to nearly ten, he asked if it were not time to go.

“Certainly,” said Madam Conway.  “You remain here, Maggie; I will bring down your shawl,” and she glided from the room, leaving them purposely alone.

Maggie was a good deal astonished, slightly embarrassed, and a little provoked, all of which Arthur Carrollton readily saw; but this did not prevent his talking to her, and during the few minutes of Madam Conway’s absence he decided that neither Margaret’s beauty, nor yet her originality, had been overrated by her partial grandmother, while Maggie, on her part, mentally pronounced him “the finest-looking, the most refined, the most gentlemanly, the proudest, and the hatefulest man she had ever seen!”

Wholly unconscious of her cogitation, he wrapped her shawl very carefully about her, taking care to cover her white shoulders from the night air; then offering his arm to her grandmother, he led the way to the carriage, whither she followed him, wondering if Henry would be jealous, and thinking her first act would be to tell him how she hated Arthur Carrollton, and always should!

* * * * *

It was a gay, brilliant scene which Mrs. Morton’s drawing room presented; and, as yet the center of attraction, Theo, near the door, was bowing to the many strangers who sought her acquaintance.  Greatly she marveled at the long delay of her grandmother and Maggie, and she had just suggested to Henry that he should go in quest of them, when she saw her sister ascending the stairs.