"Oh, are you there, dearie?" he said, and came up the path. A tall figure rose from a chair on the veranda.
"Papa, this is Mr. Russell."
The two men shook hands, Adams saying, "Pleased to make your acquaintance," as they looked at each other in the faint light diffused through the opaque glass in the upper part of the door. Adams's impression was of a strong and tall young man, fashionable but gentle; and Russell's was of a dried, little old business man with a grizzled moustache, worried bright eyes, shapeless dark clothes, and a homely manner.
"Nice evening," Adams said further, as their hands parted. "Nice time o' year it is, but we don't always have as good weather as this; that's the trouble of it. Well———" He went to the door. "Well—I bid you good evening," he said, and retired within the house.
Alice laughed. "He's the old-fashionedest man in town, I suppose—and frightfully impressed with you, I could see!"
"What nonsense!" said Russell. "How could anybody be impressed with me?"
"Why not? Because you're quiet? Good gra-
