Mr. Gray turned away to hide a smile. Later he teased Sylvia about her
new conquest. "I am afraid," he said, his mouth twitching, "that you
would flirt with a stone post."

"I didn't flirt with _him_" said Sylvia indignantly; "he ended the call
by dropping on his knees, right there in my sitting-room, and saying,
'Let us pray--for new hearts!' Well, I've had lots of calls end with a
prayer for a change of heart--"

"You little wretch! What did you do?"

"Do! I always strive to please! I knelt down beside him, of course, and
then he took my hand, so I--Honestly, I don't care much what men
_say_--if they only say it _right_--but I draw the line at being
_stroked_! If that's your idea of a flirtation, it isn't mine!"

"Look out, my dear," warned Howard; "he's a widower and a famous beggar."
And Sylvia laughed with him. During the first months she had never
laughed. "I am getting to love that child as if she were my own," he said
to his wife later. "Whatever shall we do when she goes away? It won't be
long now, you'll see."

"Mercy! Don't you even speak of it!" rejoined Mrs. Gray. But she, too,
was brooding over the possibility in secret. "Are you sure you're
quite contented here, Sylvia?" she asked anxiously the next time they
were alone.

Sylvia laid down the dish she was wiping, and came and laid her cheek,
now growing softly pink again, against Mrs. Gray's. "Contented," she
echoed; "why, I'm--I'm happy--I never was happy in my whole life before.