“That’s all right!” said March good-naturedly. “I was happy to bring Miss Wayt up the hill. Good-by, Queen Mab! May I have the honor of taking you to my home studio to see the picture when it is varnished and framed?” She replied by a gentle inclination of the head, and the same joyous ghost of a smile. She was like one lost in a dream, so deep and delicious that he will not move or speak for fear of awakening. March raised his hat and stood aside to let the carriage pass. As Hetty would have followed, his offered hand barred the way. “One moment, please!” he said, in grave simplicity. “I have to thank you for some very happy hours. May I, also, thank you for the hope of many more? I should be sorry if our acquaintanceship were to fall to the level of social conventionality. We have always been intimate with our pastor’s family, and mean, unless forbidden, to remain true to time-honored precedent.” If he had alarmed her just now, he would prove that he was no love-smitten boy, but a purposeful man, who understood himself and was obedient to law and order. Hetty gathered herself together to emulate his tranquillity. “I especially want to thank _you_, out of her hearing, for the great kindness you and your sister have showed to my dear little invalid. She will never forget it, nor shall I. It has been the happiest week of her life. I think but for your offer to lend her books, and Miss Gilchrist’s promise to keep on with her painting lessons, that the end of our sittings would be a serious affliction to her. Please say this from me to Miss Gilchrist, also. Good-evening!” He ran lightly back to May and “the stuff.” He had not obtained permission to call, but neither was it refused. He liked dignity in a woman. As he phrased it, “it furred the peach and dusted the plum.” He was entirely willing to do all the wooing. May innocently applied the last touch to his unruffled spirit in their family confabulation in the library that evening. “That Hetty Alling is one of the most delightful girls I ever met!” she asseverated emphatically. “In what respect?” inquired her judicial parent. “She has individuality—and of the best sort. She is intelligent, frank, spirited, and with these sterling qualities, as gentle as a saint with poor little Hester, who must be a great care to one so young as Hetty. I mean to do all I can to brighten the monotonous existence the two girls must lead. From all I can gather without asking impertinent questions, they are thrown almost entirely upon one another for entertainment and happiness. It is an oddly assorted household, taken as a whole.” “Talking of originality,” observed March after a meditative puff or two, “you have it in the niece. It is fearfully sad that such a mind should be crowded into the body of a dwarf. She dotes upon books. If you will look up a dozen or so that you think she—or Miss Alling—would enjoy, I will take them over to-morrow.”