“Remember him?” the girl ejaculated.

“Certainly,” said Mrs. Easterfield.  “After what you told me about him, I expected you would recognize him the moment you saw him.  But you did not know him; you did not do anything I expected you to do; and I was very much disappointed.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Olive.

“I am talking about Mr. Hemphill; Mr. Rupert Hemphill; who, about seven years ago, was engaged in the Philadelphia Navy-Yard, and who came to your house on business with your father.  From what you told me of him I conjectured that he might now be my husband’s Philadelphia secretary, for his name is Rupert, and I had reason to believe that he was once engaged in the navy-yard.  When I found out I was entirely correct in my supposition I had him sent here, and I looked forward with the most joyous anticipations to being present when you first saw him.  But it was all a fiasco!  I suppose some people might think I was unwarrantably meddling in the affairs of others, but as it was in my power to create a most charming romance, I could not let the opportunity pass.”

Olive did not hear a word of Mrs. Easterfield’s latest remarks; her round, full eyes were fixed upon the wall in front of her, but they saw nothing.  Her mind had gone back seven years.

“Is it possible,” she exclaimed presently, “that that is my Rupert, my beautiful Rupert of the roseate cheeks, the Rupert of my heart, my only love!  The Endymion-like youth I watched for every day; on whom I gazed and gazed and worshiped and longed for when he had gone; of whom I dreamed; to whom my soul went out in poetry; whose miniature I would have painted on the finest ivory if I had known how to paint; and whose image thus created I would have worn next my heart to look at every instant I found myself alone, if it had not been that my dresses were all fastened down the back!  I am going to him this instant!  I must see him again!  My Rupert, my only love!” And with this she started to the door.

“Olive,” cried Mrs. Easterfield, springing from her chair, “stop, don’t you do that!  Come back.  You must not—­”

But the girl had flown down the stairs, and was gone.

CHAPTER XIII

Mr. Lancaster’s Backers.

Olive found Mr. Hemphill under a tree upon the lawn.  He was sitting on a low bench with one little girl upon each knee.  He was not a stranger to the children, for they had frequently met him during their winter residences in cities.  He was telling them a story when Olive approached.  He made an attempt to rise, but the little girls would not let him put them down.

“Don’t move, Mr. Hemphill,” said Olive; “I am going to sit down myself.”  And as she spoke she drew forward a low bench.  “I am so glad to see you are fond of children, Mr. Hemphill,” she continued; “you must have changed very much.”

“Changed!” he exclaimed.  “I have always been fond of them.”