"I do not think so. Prove it."

"I cannot prove it to a man. I have only a woman's knowledge, of what he does not understand. And besides, Mr. Southwode, it is quite right and proper that it should be so. A man shall leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife; and if his father and mother, surely everybody else."

"As I am not married, the case does not come under consideration," said the gentleman carelessly. And after a pause he went on--"I have written several letters to Rotha during the time of my absence, and addressed them to your care. Did you receive them safe?"

"I received several--I do not at this moment recollect just how many."

"Do you know why they were never answered?"

"I suppose I do," said Mrs. Busby composedly. "Rotha has been exceedingly engrossed with her studies."

"She had vacations?"

"O certainly. She had vacations."

"Then can you tell me, Mrs. Busby, why Rotha never wrote to me?"

"I am afraid I cannot tell you," the lady answered slowly, looking into the fire.

"Do you think Rotha has forgotten me?"

"It is not like her, I should say, to forget. I never hear her mention you. But then, I see her little except in the vacations, and not always then; she was often carried off from me."

"By whom, may I ask?"

"O by her school teacher."

"And that was--? Pardon me, but it concerns me to know all about Rotha I can."

"I am not sure if I am justified in telling you."

"Why not?"

"I think," said Mrs. Busby with an appearance of candour, "my guardianship is the proper one for her. How can you be her guardian, while she lives in my house, Mr. Southwode? Or how can you be her guardian out of it?"

"I promised her mother," he said. "How a promise shall be fulfilled, may admit of question; but not whether it shall be fulfilled."

"I know of but one way," Mrs. Busby went on, eyeing him now intently. "If you tell me you are intending to take _that_ way,--then I have no more to say, of course. But I know of but one way in which it can be done."

Mr. Southwode laughed a little, a low, soft laugh, that in him always meant amus.e.m.e.nt. "I did not promise _that_ to her mother," he said, "and I cannot promise it to you. It might be convenient, but I do not contemplate it."

"Then, Mr. Southwode, I feel it my duty to request that you fulfil your promise by acting through me."

It was well enough said; it was not without some ground of reason. If he could have felt sure of Mrs. Busby, it might have received, partially at least, his concurrence. But he was as far as possible from feeling sure of Mrs. Busby; and rather gave her credit for playing a clever mask. Upon a little pause which followed the last words, there came a ring at the door and the entrance of the young lady of the house. Antoinette was grown up excessively pretty, and was dressed to set off her prettiness.

Her mother might be pardoned for viewing her with secret pride and exultation, if not for the thrill of jealous fear which accompanied the proud joy. That anybody should stand in this beauty's way!

"Mr. Southwode!" exclaimed the young lady. "It is Mr. Southwode come back. Why, Mr. Southwode, what has kept you so long? We heard you were coming five months ago. Why didn't you come then?"

Mrs. Busby wished her daughter had not said that.

"There were reasons--not interesting enough to occupy your ear with them."

"'Occupy my ear'!" repeated the girl. "That is something new. Mamma, isn't that deliciously polite! Well, what made you stay away so long, Mr.

Southwode? I like to have my ear occupied."

"Should not people stay where they belong?"

"And do you belong in England?"

"I suppose, in a measure, I may say I do."

"You talk foolishly, Antoinette," her mother put in. "Don't you know that Mr. Southwode's home is in England?"

"People can change their homes, mamma. Then, you are not going to stay long, Mr. Southwode?"

"I do not know how long. That is an undecided point."

"And what have you come over for now?"

"Antoinette!" said her mother again. "I do not know if you can excuse her, Mr. Southwode; she is entirely too out-spoken. That is a question you have nothing to do with, Nettie."

"Why not, mamma? He has come for something; and if it is business, or travelling, or hunting, I would like to know."

"Hunting, at this time of year!" said Mrs. Busby.

"I might say it is business," said Mr. Southwode. "In one part of my business, perhaps you can help me."

Antoinette p.r.i.c.ked up her ears delightedly, and eagerly asked how? and what?

"I made it part of my business to inquire about a little girl that I left three years ago under your mother's care."

"Rotha!" exclaimed Antoinette; and a cloudy shadow of displeasure and suspicion forthwith fell over her face; not tinder such good control as her mother's. "A little girl! She was not so very little."

"What sort of a girl has she turned out to be?"

"Not little now, I can tell you. She is a great deal bigger than I am. So you came to see about Rotha?"

"What can you tell me about her?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Nothing but the truth," said Mr. Southwode gravely.

"But the truth about what? Rotha is just what she used to be."

"Not changed except in inches?"

"_Inches!_ Feet!--" said Antoinette. "We don't think about inches when we look at her. I don't know about anything else. If you want an account of her studies you must ask somebody at school."