tickets every week, and placed a horse and phaeton at her disposal. She
was enjoying herself and seeing less and less of Blanche. He took the
child to Bournemouth for a fortnight, and again to Scotland, both of
which outings benefited as much as they pleased her. She had begun to
tyrannize over him amiably, and she carried herself quite royally. But
she was always sweet and truthful, and these qualities, combined with
that something in the depths of her mind which defied his explorations,
held him captive. She was devoted to him, and cared for no other
companion, although she was demonstrative to her mother when they met.

It was in the tenth month of this idyl of the lonely man and the lonely
child that Mrs. Root flurriedly entered the library of Chillingsworth,
where Orth happened to be alone.

"Oh, sir," she exclaimed, "I must go home. My daughter Grace writes
me--she should have done it before--that the boys are not behaving
as well as they should--she didn't tell me, as I was having such a
good time she just hated to worry me--Heaven knows I've had enough
worry--but now I must go--I just couldn't stay--boys are an awful
responsibility--girls ain't a circumstance to them, although mine are
a handful sometimes."

Orth had written about too many women to interrupt the flow. He let her
talk until she paused to recuperate her forces. Then he said quietly:

"I am sorry this has come so suddenly, for it forces me to broach a
subject at once which I would rather have postponed until the idea had
taken possession of you by degrees--"

"I know what it is you want to say, sir," she broke in, "and I've