The moon was shining brightly, and looking out, Jenny saw Billy Bender and her brother mounting the steps which led to Mr. Selden’s door.

“It’s funny that they should be together,” thought she, while Rose continued, “Nothing will surprise me now, if Henry has got to running after her.  I am glad George Moreland is away, though I fancy he’s too much good sense to swallow a person, just because Ida and his old maid aunt say he must.”

Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Lincoln, who came as usual to see his daughter.  In the mean time the two young men, who accidentally met at the gate, had entered Mr. Selden’s parlor, and inquired for the young ladies.

“Come, you must go down,” said Ida to Mary, when the message was delivered.  This is the third time Mr. Bender has called, and you have no excuse for not now seeing him.  “By the way,” she continued, as Mary said something about ‘Billy,’ “don’t call him Billy; we know him as Mr. Bender and Billy is so,—­so,—­”

“So countrified,” suggested Mary.

“Yes, countrified if you please,” returned Ida.  “So after this he is William.  Haven’t you noticed that Jenny calls him so?  But come,” she added mischievously, “never mind brushing your hair.  Mr. Stuart isn’t down there!”

With the exception of the time when she was hurt, Mary had not seen William for more than two years and a half and now when she met him, she was so much embarrassed that she greeted him with a reserve, amounting almost to coldness.  He on the contrary, was perfectly self-possessed, but after a few commonplace remarks, he seated himself on the opposite side of the room, and entered into conversation with Mrs. Mason concerning Chicopee and its inhabitants.  Frequently Mary’s eyes rested upon him, and she felt a thrill of pride when she saw how much his residence in Boston had improved him, and how handsome he really was.  But any attempt to converse with him was rendered impossible by Henry Lincoln, who, toady as he was, thought proper to be exceedingly polite to Mary, now that the Seldens noticed her so much.  Seating himself by her side with all the familiarity of an old friend, and laying his arm across the back of the sofa, so that to William it looked as if thrown around her shoulders, he commenced a tirade of nonsense as meaningless as it was disagreeable.  More than once, too, he managed to let fall a very pointed compliment, feeling greatly surprised to see with what indifference it was received.

“Confound the girl!” thought he, beginning to feel piqued at her coldness.  “Is she made of ice, or what?”

And then he redoubled his efforts at flattery, until Mary, quite disgusted, begged leave to change her seat, saying by way of apology that she was getting too warm.  In the course of the evening George Moreland was mentioned.  Involuntarily Mary blushed, and Henry, who was watching her proposed that she resume her former seat, “for,” said he, “you look quite as warm and red where you are.”