“And the world,” he stated, “is big, but sometimes, in spite of the bigness, one can’t get away from--things--” Well, I _didn’t_ understand him. All that winter he had asked me about Miss Sheila, until whenever I saw him her name just naturally came out and sat on the tip of my tongue, waiting for the word from him that would make it jump off into space. It did seem very _queer_! I stuck the letter deep in my pocket, and tried not to feel disappointed, I knew that I shouldn’t, but--I _did_! Mr. Wake had been so dear to me, and was so dear, that I wanted to make him happy, and I’d supposed I could do so by having a party and asking him to meet Miss Sheila. “You know,” he said, and I could see he was trying to get back to normal, and to make me think he felt quite as usual, “an old person like me, with a fat tummy, simply _can’t_ meet a fairy godmother--he wouldn’t know how to act!” “Your stomach’s _much_ better,” I answered bluntly, “you needn’t blame it on _that_! If you don’t want to meet her, just _say_ so, but, I’ll tell you, _you’ll miss it_! She’s lovely, and she’d be very kind to you--she’s kind to every one--” “Is she?” he broke in, and he smiled in a strange way. “Yes,” I answered hotly, “she _is_.” We were quiet a moment. Then Mr. Wake put his hand over mine. “Dear child,” he said, “I’m _sorry_ to disappoint you--” “What about examples _now_?” asked Sam, who came strolling up. Then he saw that there was something straining in the air, and he quickly changed the subject. “Found a bush all in bloom on the other side of the court,” he said, “Come over and see it, Jane. Almost as pretty as you are, back in a second, Signor Wake--” “Long as you like,” said Mr. Wake with a wave, by which he meant we might linger. “What is it!” asked Sam, after we had wandered into the center of the big space that was surrounded on all sides by the building. I told him, and then I said, “It surprised me; he has talked about her--so much that at first I thought he must have known her, but she wrote she’d never known any one named Wake, and now--he doesn’t _want_ to know her--” “Match-maker?” asked Sam. “No,” I answered, and a little sharply, because I was still disappointed, “but I thought he’d _like_ it. And they are both so nice, and Miss Sheila _is_ lonely--you can see it sometimes, although perhaps she doesn’t know it--and I _did_ think that if they liked each other it _would_ be nice--” “I’ll tell you what,” said Sam, “I’ll let you make a match for me. I’ll pick out the girl, and you’ll tell me how to get her--” “All right,” I promised, and I felt more dismal than ever. I don’t know why, but I did. “That please you?” he asked. “Not entirely,” I answered with candor, “I think you’ll _ruin_ your career if you marry too early!” “It doesn’t look as if I would,” he stated, and he sighed. And I felt worse than ever. “That’ll be the end of our friendship--” I prophesied, and I felt sad, and my voice sounded it.