'No, I don't want to do that--even if I could. I want to remember all he told me about art, and about ideals, and to become an accomplished woman, so that I may meet him some day, and he may be quite proud that it was he who inspired me.' So Mr. Scott had known how, by a little dash and plausibility, and by deliberately playing upon her emotions, to crown my work and to appropriate to himself the credit and the reward of it all. But after this enthusiastic declaration the light faded again out of her sensitive face. 'It seems such a long, long time to wait before that can happen,' she said mournfully. And a remarkably poor ambition to live upon, I thought to myself. 'And do you think Mr. Scott's approbation is worth troubling your head about if, after all his enthusiasm about you, he forgets you as soon as you are out of his sight?' I asked rather bitterly. Cut at this suggestion, corresponding so exactly with her own fears, she almost broke down again. It was in a broken voice that she answered-- 'I can't think hardly about him; when I do it only makes me break my heart afterwards, and I long to see him to ask his pardon for being so harsh. He was fond of me while he was here, I couldn't expect more than that of such a clever man. And he has sent me one letter--and perhaps--I hope--he will send me another before long.' 'He has written to you?' 'Yes.' As a mark of deep friendship for me she not only let me see the envelope (preserved in a black satin case embroidered with pink silk) but flourished before my eyes the precious letter itself, a mere scrap of a note, I could see that, and not the ten-pager of your disconsolate lover. I was seized with a great throb of impatience, and clave the top coal of the small fire viciously. She must get over this. I turned the subject, for fear I should wound her feelings by some outburst of anger against Mr. Scott, who must indeed have worked sedulously to leave such a deep impression on the girl's mind. 'Well, you will have to be content with your old master's affection for the present, Babiole,' I said, when she had put her treasure carefully away. 'Oh, Mr. Maude!' She leant lovingly against my knee. 'And if the worst comes to the worst you will have to marry me.' She laughed as if this were a joke in my best manner. 'Didn't your mother say anything to you about that?' I asked, as if carrying on the jest. Babiole blushed. 'Don't talk about it,' she said humbly. 'I lost my temper, and spoke disrespectfully to her for the first time. I told her she ought to be ashamed of herself, after all you have done for us.' Evidently she thought the idea originated with her mother, and was pressed upon me against my inclination. Seeing that I should gain nothing by undeceiving her, I laughed the matter off, and we drifted into a talk about the garden, and the croup among Mr. Blair's bare-footed children at the Mill o' Sterrin a mile away.