"There is no one else, of course," said he, with a deep breath of relief. "No one. I can't even _give_ it away. I shall go on paying taxes on it all my life, I daresay. And repairs and—" "Repairs won't be necessary, ma'am, unless you have a complaining tenant. I shall manage to keep the place in good order." "Are your wages satisfactory, Wade?" "Quite, madam." Sometimes he remembered not to say "ma'am." "And your food, your own personal comforts, your—" "Don't worry about me, madam. I make out very well." "And you are all alone there? All alone in that dark, grim old house? Oh, how terribly lonely it must be. I—" she shivered slightly. "I have a scrub-woman in twice a month, and Murray comes to see me once in awhile. I read a great deal." "And your meals?" "I get my own breakfast, and go down to Sixth Avenue for my luncheons and dinners. There is an excellent little restaurant quite near, you see,—conducted by a very estimable Southern lady in reduced circumstances. Her husband is a Northerner, however, and she doesn't see a great deal of him. I understand he is a person of very uncertain habits. They say he gambles. Her daughter assists her with the business. She—but, I beg pardon; you would not be interested in them." "I am glad that you are contented, Wade. We will consider the matter settled, and you will go on as heretofore. You may always find me here, if you desire to communicate with me at any time." Wade looked around the room. Anne's maid had come in and was employed in restoring a quantity of flowers to the boxes in which they had been delivered. There were roses and violets and orchids in profusion. Mrs. Thorpe took note of his interest. "You will be interested to hear, Wade, that my sister-in-law is expecting a little baby very soon. I am taking the flowers up to her flat." "A baby," said Wade softly. "That will be fine, madam."