The evening before their departure was one of mild, charming beauty, and as the dining-room was partially dismantled, it was Mr. Vosburgh's fancy to have the supper-table spread on the veranda. The meal was scarcely finished when a tall, broad-shouldered man appeared at the foot of the steps, and Sally, the pretty waitress, manifested a blushing consciousness of his presence.
"Wud Mr. Vosburgh let me spake to him a moment?" began the stranger.
Marian recognized the voice that, from the shrubbery, had given utterance to the indignant protest against traits which had once characterized her own life and motives. Thinking it possible that her memory was at fault, she glanced at Sally's face and the impression was confirmed. "What ages have passed since that June evening!" she thought.
"Is it anything private, my man?" asked Mr. Vosburgh, pushing back his chair and lighting a cigar.
"Faix, zur, it's nothin' oi'm ashamed on. I wish to lave the country and get a place on the perlace force," repeated the man, with an alacrity which showed that he wished Sally to hear his request.
"You look big and strong enough to handle most men."
"Ye may well say that, zur; oi've not sane the man yit that oi was afeared on."
Sally chuckled over her knowledge that this was not true in respect to women, while Marian whispered to her father: "Secure him the place if you can, papa. You owe a great deal to him and so do I, although he does not know it. This is the man whose words, spoken to Sally, disgusted me with my old life. Don't you remember?"
Mr. Vosburgh's eyes twinkled, as he shot a swift glance at Sally, whose face was redder than the sunset. The man's chief attraction to the city was apparent.
"What's your name?" the gentleman asked.