The old man rumpled his silver hair restlessly.

"No-o," he said, a little ruefully. "I suppose it'll be some man
some day, my dear. I've been thinking--even little Cherry seems to
be growing up!"

Anne, who modelled her deportment somewhat upon the conduct of
Esther in "Bleak House," came to the hassock at his knee, and sat
there, looking up at him with bright affection and respect.

"Cherry's only a child," she assured him, "and Alix will not be
ready to give her heart to any man for years to come! But I'm
twenty-four, Uncle. And sometimes I feel ready to--to try my own
wings!"

He smiled at her absently; he was thinking of her mother, an
articulate, academic, resolute woman, of whom he had never been
fond.

"That's the way the wind blows, eh?" he asked kindly.

Anne widened her pretty eyes.

"Well--you see how much he's here! You see the flowers and books
and notes. I'm not the sort of girl to wear my heart on my
sleeve," Anne, who was fond of small conservational tags, assured
him merrily. "But there must be some fire where there's so much
smoke!" she ended.

"You're not sure, my dear?" he asked, after some thought.