The Ghost of Guir House

Paul coughed, hesitated, and then resolved to tell a part of the

truth, which is often more misleading than the blackest lie.

"I--I did not get it," he answered, "until a day or two ago."

Miss Dorothy looked surprised.

"Strange!" she said; "but, after all, I had my misgivings, for I

never could believe that a letter like that would reach its

destination. But you know you told me--"

"Yes, I know I did," interrupted Paul. "You were perfectly right. You

see I got it at last, and 'all's well that ends well!'"

"Not necessarily; because if you are as careless about other matters

as this, why--I may have--that is, we may have to part before

really knowing each other, and do you know, I should be awfully

sorry for that."

Although she laughed a quick, nervous laugh, the words were uttered

as if really meant. Paul suffered, and tried to think of something

non-committal--something which, while not exposing his ignorance of

the real Henley's business, might induce the girl to explain the

situation; but no leading question presented itself. He thought he

could be happy if he could but divert the conversation from its

present awkward drift.

There was a quaintness about the young lady's costume that reminded

Henley of an old portrait. Evidently her attire had been modeled

after that of some remote ancestor, but it was picturesque and

singularly becoming, and Paul found it difficult to avoid staring in

open admiration. Inwardly he concluded that she was a "stunner," but

in no ordinary sense; and despite the novel and somewhat embarrassing

situation, he was conscious of a fascination not clearly accounted

for. Thoughts of the defunct Henley, with his store of inaccessible

knowledge, were discouraging; but then the memory of the girl's

smiles was reassuring; and, come what might, Paul determined to

represent his namesake as creditably as possible.

The loneliness of the country road begot a spirit of confidence, so

that Miss Guir soon appeared in the light of an old friend, to

deceive whom was sacrilege. Mr. Henley realized the enormity of his

conduct each time he glanced at her pretty face, but had not the

courage to undeceive her. And why should he? Was not Dorothy happy?

"Would it be right," he argued, "to upset the girl's tranquillity for

a whim, for a scruple of his own, which had come too late, and which,

for his as well as the girl's peace of mind, had better not have come

at all? No, he would continue as he had begun. Doubtless he would be

discovered ere long, but would not anticipate the event."