improvement. One of the mills had already been enlarged, another was scaffolded for the same purpose, and young trees and neatly-fenced turf replaced the surrounding desert of trampled earth.
As Amherst came out of the hospital, he heard Miss Brent declining a seat in Westy’s phaeton.
“Thank you so much; but there’s some one here I want to see first—one of the operatives—and I can easily take a Hanaford car.” She held out her hand with the smile that ran like colour over her whole face; and Westy, nettled by this unaccountable disregard of her privileges, mounted his chariot alone.
As he glided mournfully away, Amherst turned to Justine. “You wanted to see the Dillons?” he asked.
Their eyes met, and she smiled again. He had never seen her so sunned-over, so luminous, since the distant November day when they had picnicked with Cicely beside the swamp. He wondered vaguely if she were more elaborately dressed than usual, or if the festal impression she produced were simply a reflection of her mood.
“I do want to see the Dillons—how did you guess?” she rejoined; and Amherst felt a sudden impulse to reply: “For the same reason that made you think of them.”
The fact of her remembering the Dillons made him absurdly happy; it re-established between them
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