While they were speaking, Mr. Traverse made his appearance, and learning the cause of the discussion, presented a cheque for the amount needed to renew the badges, and volunteered his services as “needle-threader” for the evening.

“Come now, Traverse, you can’t thread needles for the crowd,” said Fred Foster, “but if the ladies will only invite the male members, we will promise to keep them supplied with threaded needles, ad infinitum.”

“Have you decided to come to our house Thursday?  If so, all members of the T. and B. are invited, but we will keep you gentlemen up to your promise in regard to the needle-threading, so let no one imagine he can come and shirk his duty,” and the group separated.

The next evening the parlor of the Sherwoods presented a busy scene.  Several small tables placed about the room were surrounded by groups, whose nimble fingers cut and sewed the bunches of ribbon that were provided; and as there were several “needle-threaders” for every group, there seemed no reason why the work should not progress with the greatest of despatch.  The ever-increasing pile of finished badges which appeared on the several tables gave evidence that their fingers were as nimble as their tongues, and amusement and work were intermingled.

Amidst the fun and merriment that was taking place in the room, Dexie’s abstracted and absent-minded manner was not noticed, except by one pair of eyes—­and very little that concerned Dexie Sherwood escaped the notice of Guy Traverse.

He was finding it hard to check the feelings with which he had long regarded her, for he had become attached to her from the very first, and his eyes were keen to note her varying moods.  His frequent visits to the house gave him opportunity to study her character, and the more he saw of her, the higher grew his respect.  A more tender feeling also was growing within his breast, that gave him secret pleasure, though he kept well in check any sign of its existence.  He never had found the opportunity of asking the truth of her engagement; but being assured that she had a gentleman correspondent, he felt he had little cause to hope.  He had been present on more than one occasion when Dexie had discussed with the rest of the family various extracts from letters which had come from over the sea.  To be sure, these extracts were mostly descriptions of places that the writer had visited, or accounts of amusing episodes met with while travelling; but there lingered an undefined impression on Guy Traverse’s mind that these letters were not so sacred as one would naturally suppose they should be if the writer were dear to the heart of the recipient.

“Something is troubling Dexie to-night,” he said to himself, as he noticed how unusually silent and preoccupied she remained, even when the merriment seemed at its height.  “I must be on the alert and see that she is not troubled unnecessarily,” for being a frequent visitor, he was aware that Gussie was not always the pleasant person she appeared to be, and he, somehow, connected her with Dexie’s present mood.