“Kind, yes kind!” sniffed the aunt, “and what will you think about it when he asks you to marry him? Will you think he is kind to offer you a share in the inheritance of a nobody—a charity—dependent—a child of the slums? If you persist in your foolishness of staying here you will presently have all New York gossiping about you, and then when you are in disgrace—I suppose you will turn to me to help you out of it.” “Stop!” cried Starr. “I will not listen to another word. What do you mean by disgrace? There could be no disgrace in marrying Michael. The girl who marries him will be the happiest woman in the whole world. He is good and true and unselfish to the heart’s core. There isn’t the slightest danger of his ever asking me to marry him, Aunt Frances, because I am very sure he loves another girl and is engaged to marry her; and she is a nice girl too. But if it were different, if he were free and asked me to marry him I would feel as proud and glad as if a prince of the highest realm had asked me to share his throne with him. I would rather marry Michael than any man I ever met, and I don’t care in the least whether he is a child of the slums or a child of a king. I know what he is, and he is a prince among men.” “Oh, really! Has it come to this? Then you are in love with him already and my warning comes too late, does it? Answer me! Do you fancy yourself in love with him.” “Aunt Frances, you have no right to ask me that question,” said Starr steadily, her cheeks very red and her eyes very bright. Michael was sitting bolt upright on the couch now, utterly forgetful of the dishonor of eavesdropping, fairly holding his breath to listen and straining his ears that he might lose no slightest word. He was devouring the dear, straight, little form in the doorway with his eyes, and her every word fell on his tired heart like raindrops in a thirsty land, making the flowers of hope spring forth and burst into lovely bloom. “Well, I do ask it!” snapped the aunt hatefully. “Come, answer me, do you love him?” “That, Aunt Frances, I shall never answer to anybody but Michael. I must refuse to hear another word on this subject.” “Oh, very well, good-bye. I’ll leave you to your silly fate, but don’t expect me to help you out of trouble if you get into it. I’ve warned you and I wash my hands of you,” and the angry woman flouted out to her waiting car, but the girl stood still in the doorway and said with dignity: “Good afternoon, Aunt Frances. I shall never ask your help in any way.” Starr watched the car out of sight, great tears welling into her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. Michael sat breathless on the couch and tried to think what he ought to do; while his very being was rippling with the joy of the words she had spoken. Then she turned and saw him, and he stood up and held out his arms.