"Yes, a gentleman; young, and rather handsome. I asked him who I should say wished to see you, and—what do you think?—he would not tell."
"No! What did he say?"
"Told me to mention to Miss Grace Danton that a friend wished to see her. Mysterious, is it not?"
"Who can it be?" said Grace, thoughtfully. "What does this mysterious gentleman look like, Eeny?"
"Very tall," said Eeny, "and very stately, with brown hair, and beard and mustache—a splendid mustache, Grace! and beautiful, bright brown eyes, something like yours. Very good-looking, very polite, and with the smile of an angel. There you have him."
"I am as much at a loss as ever," said Grace, leaving the dining-room. "This is destined to be an evening of arrivals I think."
She ran upstairs for the second time, and opened the parlour door. A gentleman before the fire, in the seat Eeny had vacated, arose at her entrance. Grace stood still an instant, doubt, amaze, delight, alternately in her face; then with a cry of "Frank!" she sprang forward, and was caught in the tall stranger's arms.
"I thought you would recognize me in spite of the whiskers," said the stranger. "Here, stand off and let me look at you; let me see the changes six years have wrought in my sister Grace."
He held her out at arm's length, and surveyed her smilingly.
"A little older—a little graver, but otherwise the same. My solemn Gracie, you will look like your own grandmother at thirty."