“I was hoping that you two would meet to-night,” he said, bestowing a smiling face upon them both. “Miss Meredith is a graduate of two years ago, Miss Gladstone, and I am sure you will find her a congenial spirit.”
“Thank you, Mr. Appleton,” Miss Meredith responded, brightly; “but you should have put it the other way, for I have been very impatient to meet Miss Gladstone. I singled her out from her class to-day, and felt sure that we should be en rapport, as the spiritualists say, if we could only become acquainted.”
“Well, I think it does not matter much which way you put it, now that you know each other,” the gentleman returned, smiling; then turning to Star, he added:
“So, my young friend, you have really ‘run the race, and finished the course;’ and now do you remember the promise which you made me several months ago?”
Star flushed vividly at this question.
“Did I make you a promise, Mr. Appleton?” she asked, evasively, adding, with an arch glance: “I thought it was you who made me a promise.”
He laughed and shook his finger at her.
“You said that on your eighteenth birthday I might reveal a secret.”
“And you promised you would not reveal it until I was eighteen,” she retorted, brightly, although the color deepened in her cheeks as she continued: “I am not eighteen yet, Mr. Appleton.”
“No, but you will be to-morrow. You see I have not forgotten the date. Now, let me take time by the forelock a little, and whisper to Miss Meredith who the author of ‘Chatsworth’s Pride’ is. She has been on the qui vive to know ever since the book was published,” Mr. Appleton said, bending a roguish look upon Star, who now stood with drooping eyes and appearing somewhat confused.