The expression of her face as she took the card did not indicate that the surprise was wholly joyous. She frowned and bit her lip, and an anxious look grew in her eyes as she went out into the hall to meet the visitor, who advanced with bounds, and grasped her in one arm, giving her cheek a brotherly peck.
"What has happened, Edgar?" she asked as he led her back into her room.
"I've come to see you, that's all," was the rejoinder.
Edgar Fabian was an airy youth, carefully arrayed in the height of fashion. His fair hair was brushed until it reflected the light, and his jaunty assurance was wont to carry all before it.
"Is anything wrong at home?" insisted his sister.
"Certainly not."
They were now inside the room and the young man closed the door.
"Well, I haven't any money," said Kathleen bluntly,—"at least, not for you!"
Edgar was but little taller than she, and, as she looked at him now, her serious slender face opposed to his boyish one, her peculiar slow speech, in which her teeth scarcely closed, sounding lazy beside his crispness, she seemed the elder of the two.