The autumn rains had come and gone, destroying the fugitive bloom of Miss Polly's flower-beds, and scattering the leaves of the elm tree in a moist, delicately tinted carpet over the grass.

An hour ago the sun had set in a purple cloud, and beneath the electric lights, which shone through the fog with a wan and spectral glimmer, the dark outlines of the city assumed an ominous vagueness.

There was no light in the house; and the deserted yard, silvered from frost and strewn with dead leaves, which lay in wind-drifts along the flagged walk, had the haunted aspect of a place where youth and happiness have passed so recently that the fragrance of them still lingers.
"Archibald went off to school without telling you good-bye," she said in a friendly voice.

"He was much disappointed." Stopping in the walk, he looked at her with unaffected surprise.
"Why, I thought that was what you wanted!" She met this quite honestly.

"Not after I talked to you." "What in thunder did I say to change your opinion of me ?" The strong west wind blowing around him and lifting the roughened red hair from his forehead, appeared to lessen by contrast the breezy animation of his manner.
"It wasn't anything you said," she answered simply.