She took a step toward the door. The scarlet went out of her face, and she swayed as if her strength was all gone. He caught her, and put her back in the chair.

"Jim!" now in a tone of great surprise, and giving a little incredulous laugh. "Why, I thought it was Herman Andersen."

Joe's heart seemed suddenly to enlarge and fill his whole body. There was a ringing in his ears, as of joy-bells.

"Herman Andersen!" she said composedly. "Oh, have you all been blind?

Why, he is in love with Hanny! He came back to America to win her, and he will if he serves seven years."

Doctor Joe looked at her in amaze. Ah, yes, they had been blind. They had fenced out young Peter Beckman, and opened the door wide to this unsuspected lover. And he knew as well as it Hanny had confessed it, that her heart had gone to meet his on the magic sea of love, and they would come into port no longer twain, but one.

He sat down on the broad arm of the chair. He could see Daisy's long agitated breaths quiver through her body; and she looked tired and spent. Poor little girl!

"No, I had never thought of Jim," he began gravely, "because he is so fond of girls; a general worshipper. Not but what he might be very true and devoted to one. He seems so young yet. Daisy,"--his voice fell,--"did he ask you--"

Her head drooped a little, and her shining curls hid her face.

"Oh, do believe that when I thought of it first I did try to evade, to--to laugh him out of it. That was a month ago. He kept saying little things I would not heed or seem to understand. It has been such a gay, happy summer for us all! And there was Charlie's engagement. Last evening mamma and papa had gone out to call on a friend, and we were quite alone--"

How much was volatile temperament and the love of pursuit, and how much the deeper regard? Let him do his young brother justice.

"Charlie is young, to be sure, but he is a very steady-minded fellow, and his mother's and Tudie's death brought them together in a very sympathetic manner. Then Charles is about certain of a good position.

Jim has his fortune all to make. And you are right about some other qualities. Herman Andersen would be a much better companion for you. Jim is strong and energetic, full of life, and will always be among the busy bustling things, and deep in excitements. He would wear you out."

"And don't you see that when he is five or six and twenty he will need something better than an invalid wife, who might have to go to bed with a headache when he was giving an important dinner, or having a brilliant sort of evening with some stylish guests? He ought to have a wife something like Mrs. Hoffman, who would help him to the finest things of life. And though I seem well, I shall never be real strong; and I do not care for grand society. I like a good deal of quiet and ease, and just everyday living, a little painting when I feel inspired, a little reading and talks with friends, and old-fashioned music. I sometimes feel as if I was an old girl, and ought to have lived a century ago.

Perhaps I shall make a queer, stuffy old woman. And--I ought not to marry."

"You shall not give up the divine right," he made answer, earnestly.

"Oh, I have a pretty face just now, and people, I find, _do_ admire beauty. But that will fade." Then she sprang up suddenly, parted her long ringlets, and stood with her back to him. "See," and her voice trembled, he knew there were tears in her eyes, "I have a little crook in my back, and one high shoulder. There has to be half an inch of cork in one boot-sole to keep me straight and from limping. No, I shouldn't do for a handsome young man like Jim, for I may grow lamer and crookeder as I grow older; nor for any man, although you try to comfort me with an almost divine compassion."

She was sobbing in his arms then. It was not the first time she had wept out her sorrow there.

He raised the golden head a little, and kissed down amid the passionate tears that were sweeping away a kind of regret that sometimes haunted her. He had kissed her often as a little child, but rarely since her return from abroad. Her girlhood had been a quality fine and rare and sacred to him.

"Except the one man who has always loved you from the poor little child in her pitiful pain and anguish, and the little girl who began to take courage and face the world, the larger girl who was brave and sunny-hearted, and looked out with hopeful eyes on the world that had so many blessings. And he knows now that no skill can ever shut out all suffering; but his sympathy and tender affection will help her through years that may be weary and sorrowful, and endure with her whatever burden comes, make her pathway easy and pleasant and restful."

"Oh, you must not," she cried, with a pang of renunciation. "Whatever applies to another man applies with double force to you. You are so noble, so tender; so worthy of what is best in life! And you have to carry so many burdens for other people that you must have some one brave and strong and full of energy and in perfect health--"

"The woman I love will be better than all this to me," he returned, with a sweetness in his voice that went to her very heart, and brought the tears to her eyes again. Then he dropped down in the great chair and took her gently in his arms, and he knew his case was as good as won.

"When you were a little girl you once said to Hanny if you could have a brother out of the clan you would like it to be me. And for days the quaint, generous little soul could hardly resolve whether it was not her duty to give me away. Then don't you remember you both planned to come and keep my bachelor-home? Some one else will take her. And we will wait, dear. We will go on in the same friendly, kindly fashion. You must run in and out and come to me with your headaches and perplexities, and I shall scold you a little and give you a bitter tonic; and when everything is just right I shall ask you to marry me; but all the time I shall be loving you so much that it will be impossible for you to refuse me. So you know what is in store, and no one need trouble about the future. You are not engaged, you are quite free; and, like Ben, I will wait seven years or twenty years for you. But I think you never can belong to any one else."

Ah, what delightful security!

"Dear, dear Doctor Joe. Oh, it would be too much happiness! No, I ought not; mamma thinks I ought not to marry. And," raising her head and showing a face full of scarlet flushes and tears, and eyes shining with love's own light, "it looks just as if I had come in here and really asked you to marry me. We have forgotten all about poor Jim. You will think me a coquette, and you ought to despise me."

His clasp tightened a little.

"I am sorry that Jim should have been so heedless. Perhaps it will be better to let him learn how much in earnest you are with your refusal.

It may not be flattering to a young girl to think a man will forget her."

"But I want him to forget that part," she interrupted eagerly.

"I think he will. And if he comes to me for comfort, I will try to be a wise father-confessor. And yet I can't help pitying the man a little who will lose you. Only in this case it would be like having an exotic without a conservatory, and not quite knowing how to build one."

"Joseph!" his mother called from upstairs.

Daisy sprang up and smoothed her ruffled plumes, Joe gave her one long, dear kiss, and she flashed out of the little room.

She held her head very high. It was the most splendid thing that could happen to a girl; but she was not going to spoil her dear Doctor Joe's life.

Are there days that the Lord of all the earth has created for love? Some days seem made especially for sorrow. But this had such an exquisite serenity brooding in the air. It was not late enough to have any regrets for the passing of summer, and oh, what a summer it had been!

"Do you really want to go up to the fair?" Herman Andersen had asked, when they reached the corner.

"Why,--" Hanny hesitated,--"we have seen it a good many times," and she gave her soft, rippling laugh.

"Let us go over to Tompkin's Square." He had something to say to her that would be easier said in those deserted walks. You could always find them except on Saturday or Sunday.

"Very well," with her graceful assent.

The birds, done with their summer housekeeping and child-rearing, had time to sing again. But it was all low, plaintive songs, as if they said: "We must go away from the place in which we have been so happy.

Will we be sure to come another spring?" Now and then a branch stirred.

The grass had been cut for the last time, and there were sweet little winrows that filled the air with fragrance. He was quiet, for he liked to hear her enchanting talk. It had turned upon when she was a little girl, and how queer things were! It didn't seem as if everything could change so. And what a great gay time they had at the Beekmans' when Stephen was married! So they walked around, and were at an entrance. A cabman put down a woman and some children just as Mr. Andersen had said, "We were going up there some day, you know; we ought to go before everything has faded."

"Yes," she made answer.

"See here, we might get this cab and go up now"--looking up with eager inquiry.

Dickens had not created Mr. Wemmick with his delightful off-hand premeditated happenings; but other people had them even then.

She made no demur, but assented with her innocent eyes full of exquisite sweetness.

He helped her in and sat along side of her. He had all kinds of young lover-like thoughts, and really he so seldom had her alone. He wanted to snatch up the hand and kiss it. It made such a tempting background for the lace mitt. No one but old ladies wore gloves, except on very fine occasions. And her slim little fingers, with their pink nails, were so pretty! If he could even hold her hand!

But they jolted over rough streets, through little clumps of Irish villages, and laughed over the pigs, and geese, and children. Then wastes again, with long, straight lines where streets were to be.

"That is the house over there," she said.

"I wonder if you could walk back? Or shall I keep the cab?"

"Oh, no. It is so delightful to walk!"

Ah, how the hand of improvement had disfigured everything! leaving ugly, square, naked blocks, with here and there a house, then a space where the trees were still standing; but the children despoiled the lilacs and dogwood in the spring, and thrashed the lindens and black walnuts all the later summer, until the poor things had a weary, drooping aspect.

Over here was the great garden, and a street ran through it. The old house was shabby, and needed painting; and most of the vines had been cut away. The steps were broken. Several families inhabited it now. The cousin had thrown it up in disgust.

But the young man saw it through her eyes, glorified with the glamour of childhood. Slim young Dolly, Aunt Gitty netting, the ladies in rocking-chairs with their sewing under the trees, Mr. Beckman and Katschina, and the tea on little tables; and the boys she was afraid of.