Muzzy's window looked upon the street. Lizzie, not waiting for permission, went to the window, and looked out, and stood there in silence so long, that Muzzy shuffled to her side. He saw nothing, however, for the form which Lizzie had been watching was out of sight. If she had spoken her thoughts, the words would have been: "The dear fellow! It does my heart good to see him linger about the house. I used to see that with Mary, and Mary used to watch through the blind." (Here, to be faithful to her musings, would have come a laugh that was almost a whisper--like a ripple on a lake--like a gurgling stream dancing down a hill.) "He turned back three times to look at the house. Now, if he had known that I was here, he wouldn't have gone away for a long time. How handsome he is!" A deeper flush was in her cheek, and her eyes sparkled still more brightly, as with a happy sigh she turned from the window to Muzzy, who was standing by her side. "You got my key, daddy?" she said. "Yes, my dear, thank you." "Did you come home early?" "At about ten o'clock, my dear." "Did you see any one? Did anybody ask for me?" "Nobody asked of me, Liz. You expected somebody, then?" "O, no; but I wish I had been at home." She dismissed the subject with a light shake of the head, and said, smiling, "You've had company, daddy." "Yes, my dear," he replied, with a wistful look at her pretty face--a strangely jealous look, too, which seemed to imply that he would have been better pleased if she were a little less bright. "Nice company?" she asked. "A gentleman--one who has been kind to me." She nodded with conscious grace, and stood before the old man with an assertion of prettiness upon her which heightened the contrast between her graceful person and his unattractive form. Not that the contrast was in her mind; she did not think of it, but it would have been forced upon an observer. "We heard you talking," she said. "You have had company also, Lizzie." "O, yes." With a blush and a smile. "We heard _you_ talking, my dear." "I suppose we made a great noise; Some One talks very loud sometimes." "You did not make a noise, my dear, but we heard you. Lizzie," he said, as if the thought had just occurred to him, "your candle was out when you came in." "It went out in the passage, daddy." "Or some one blew it out, Lizzie." "Yes; perhaps--Some One--did." With the pleasantest little laugh in the world. "Preferring to talk in the dark," he suggested, in a singular tone of discontent. "Yes; perhaps--Some One--does." Again the pleasant little laugh. That, which was like music, and her joyous happy manner, and her clear voice and pretty ways, made a home of the otherwise lonely room. "We have been to the theatre to-night," she said; "Some One and me. I should like to be an actress. I think I should have made a good one."