"I have no doubt. You can be an artist at serving as well as anything
else, if you try. But now that is all over. I am going to take care of
you. There is no use in protesting. If I may not do it in one way, I will
in another. There is one question I must ask first, and I hope you will
trust me enough to answer it. Is there any other--any other man who has
the right to care for you, and is unable or unwilling to do it?"

She looked up at him, her large eyes still shining with tears, and
shuddered slightly.

"Oh, no!" she said. "Oh, no, I thank God there is not! My dear uncle has
been dead for four years, and there has never been any one else who cared
since Father died."

He looked at her, a great light beginning to come into his face; but she
did not understand and turned her head to hide the tears.

"Then I am going to tell you something," he said, his tone growing lower,
yet clear enough for her to hear every word distinctly.

A tall, oldish girl with a discontented upper lip stalked through the
hall, glanced in at the door, and sniffed significantly, but they did not
see her. A short, baggy-coated man outside hovered anxiously around the
building and passed the very window of that room, but the shade opposite
them was down, and they did not know. The low, pleasant voice went on:

"I have come to care a great deal for you since I first saw you, and I
want you to give me the right to care for you always and protect you
against the whole world."