He ascended the steps, and was met
by Abbie on the threshold. He removed his hat with old-fashioned
courtesy, and gave her cold hand a quiet, warm grasp.
"Good-morning, Abbie," said he, gruffly, but cheerfully, and with a very
kind look out of his deep-set old eyes. "Is all well with you this
morning?"
"Yes," replied she, with a faint smile, that seemed to show more of
weariness than merriment. "Come into the boudoir, Professor Valeyon.
You're a stranger."
"But that's going to be remedied--that's going to be remedied!" rejoined
the old gentleman, seating himself, and allowing his hand to wander to
the top of his head, to make sure the hair-swathe was safely in
position. "Bond of union been established between us, you know."
Abbie laid her finger upon her under lip--a common act of hers when
interested or absorbed--and looked at her caller inquiringly.
"That young fellow that came last night, sent his trunk up before coming
himself. Saw him, didn't you?"
Abbie shook her head. "I saw his trunk, but not him. Mr. Bressant, I
think. You know him?"
"He's going to study divinity with me. I take some interest in him,
though he's in an unsatisfactory condition just now; intellectual
savagery, I should call it. I take it, his training has been at fault.
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