"I have no doubt it is," said Charles Osmond, thoughtfully.

And then for a minute or two there was silence. Erica, having
finished her toasting, stirred the fire into a blaze, and Charles
Osmond sat watching the fair, childish face which looked lovelier
than ever in the soft glow of the fire light. What would her
future be, he wondered. She seemed too delicate and sensitive for
the stormy atmosphere in which she lived. Would the hard life
embitter her, or would she sink under it? But there was a certain
curve of resoluteness about her well-formed chin which was
sufficient answer to the second question, while he could not but
think that the best safeguard against the danger of bitterness lay
in her very evident love and loyalty to her father.

Erica in the meantime sat stroking her cat Friskarina, and
wondering a little who her visitor could be. She liked him very
much, and could not help responding to the bright kindly eyes which
seemed to plead for confidence; though he was such an entire
stranger she found herself quite naturally opening out her heart to
him.

"I am to take notes at my father's meeting tonight," she said,
breaking the silence, "and perhaps write the account of it
afterward, too, and there's such a delightfully funny man coming to
speak on the other side."

"Mr. Randolph, is it not?"

"Yes, a sort of male Mrs. Malaprop. Oh, such fun!" and at the
remembrance of some past encounter, Erica's eyes positively danced