Peters will be wondering what keeps you."

Rosamond started to leave the room, but ere she reached the door she
paused, and turning to Mr. Browning, said, "You have made me _so_
happy, and I like you so much, I wish you'd let me kiss your hand--may
I?"

It was a strange question, and it sent the blood tingling to the very
tips of Mr. Browning's fingers.

"Why, ye-es,--I don't know. What made you think of that?" he said, and
Rosamond replied,--"I always kissed father when he made me very happy.
It was all I could do."

"But I am not your father," stammered Mr. Browning; "I shall not be
twenty-five until November. Still you can do as you please."

"Not twenty-five yet," repeated Rosamond;--"why, I thought you were
nearer _forty_. I don't believe I'd better, though I like you just as
well. Good night."

He heard her go through the hall, up the stairs, through the upper
hall, and then all was still again.

"What a strange little creature she is," he thought; "so childlike and
frank, but how queer that she should ask to _kiss me!_ Wouldn't Susan
be shocked if she knew it, and won't she be horrified when I tell her
I _am_ going to educate the girl. I shouldn't have thought of it but
for her. And suppose Ben does fall in love with her. If he knew a
little more, it would not be a bad match. Somebody must keep up our