"How well you understand such things, Hope! I should think it would be very difficult to keep track of the moon." "Yes," yawned the girl, "it is. We'd better go to sleep, Clarice, because as soon as the sun is up it will be too warm to stay in here, so you won't get your morning nap. That's the worst of a tent." "What a shame!" sighed Mrs. Van Rensselaer. Then after ten minutes of silence: "Hope, I want you to go back to New York with me next week. Now, no joking, dear, I mean it." "No," replied Hope. "It's too roasting hot there at this season. I couldn't think of it, Clarice." "But we're going by way of the Lakes, and take in a lot of those cool summer resorts. Then I must get to Newport for the last of the season, and after that, you know, it will be decent weather in New York, and we can have no end of good times. Come now, Hope, just make up your mind to go!" "You forget, I must teach my school for several weeks yet, so that settles it. Good-night, Clarice! Go to sleep like a good girl." "What does this little school amount to, to you?" insisted Mrs. Van Rensselaer. "Not a thing, and you know it! You just don't want to go with us. Come on, please do go, that's a dear girlie!" "Impossible, Clarice," replied Hope. "There are many good reasons why I really couldn't. This school up here, and my little Louisa, and, anyway, I don't want to go. Aren't you very tired and sleepy, Clarice?" She thought Mrs. Van Rensselaer bid fair to remain awake all night, and was devising various schemes in her mind for getting away from her. But Mrs. Van Rensselaer had an object in view, and disliked exceedingly to give it up. "I really don't think you ought to stay up here, Hope. To be candid, I don't just like your position. Of course, in this country, conventionalities don't count for much, but honestly I think this Livingston is caring for you." "What in the world put such an idea into your head?" asked the girl, flushing beneath her cover of blankets. "Hope!" reproved Mrs. Van Rensselaer. "You know it, and I know it, so what's the use of denying it? But, of course, if you think it's right----Really, I have nothing further to say except that I wish you would return with me, and bring your little Louisa along." The girl was silent for a moment, forgetting her anxiety to get away, in thoughts Clarice had suggested. "Has he any family?" she suddenly asked. "I mean--_children_, Clarice." "I don't think so. But what difference would that make?" "No difference in reality--but a heap of difference in my thoughts. If he had a family,--children,--it would seem more natural to think of him as being a married man, a family man. As it is, I will remember him as a true-hearted, free young Englishman." "I think, Hopie, his being married has spoiled a very pretty romance. I wish it might have been different, dear!" "You are too sleepy to know what you think. Go to sleep and dream that I shall join you in New York as soon as the school is ended."