"No, sir," said Esther from behind her screen; "but Miss Lyon is, if you'll please to walk in."
"Esther!" exclaimed Felix, amazed.
They held each other by both hands, and looked into each other's faces with delight.
"You are out of prison?"
"Yes, till I do something bad again. But you?—how is it all?"
"Oh, it is," said Esther, smiling brightly as she moved towards the wicker chair, and seated herself again, "that everything is as usual: my father is gone to see the sick; Lyddy is gone in deep despondency to buy the grocery; and I am sitting here, with some vanity in me, needing to be scolded."
Felix had seated himself on a chair that happened to be near her, at the corner of the table. He looked at her still with questioning eyes—he grave, she mischievously smiling.
"Are you come back to live here then?"
"Yes."
"You are not going to be married to Harold Transome, or to be rich?"
"No." Something made Esther take up her work again, and begin to stitch. The smiles were dying into a tremor.
