During the time which had elapsed since Ben Van Vechten first made the acquaintance of Rosamond, he had not once been to Riverside, for, failing to enter college, and overwhelmed with mortification at his failure, he had returned to Alabama, from which place he wrote to her occasionally, always addressing her as a little girl, and speaking of himself as a very ancient personage in comparison with herself. But that Rosamond was now no longer a little girl was proved by her finely rounded figure, her intelligent face, her polished manners and self- reliant air. And Rosamond was beautiful, too--so beautiful that strangers invariably asked _who_ she was, turning always for a second look, when told she was the adopted sister or daughter--the villagers hardly knew which--of the wealthy Mr. Browning. But whether she were the daughter or the sister of the man with whom she lived, she was in reality the mistress of his household, and those who at first slighted her as the child of a milliner, now gladly paid her homage as one who was to be the heir of Mr. Browning's wealth. He would never marry her, the wise ones thought--would never marry anybody--and so, with this understanding, he was free to talk, walk, and ride with her as often as he chose. He liked her, the people said, but did not love her, while Rosamond herself believed he almost hated her, so strangely cold and harsh was his manner toward her at times. This coldness had increased of late, and when the Lawries, who, next to Mr. Browning, were the most aristocratic people in the place, suggested that she should accompany them for a few weeks to the Springs, she was delighted with the plan, and nothing doubting that Mr. Browning would be glad to have her out of the way, she went to him for his consent. She found him in his library, apparently so absorbed in reading that he did not observe her approach until she stood between him and the light. Then he looked up quickly, and, as she fancied, an expression of displeasure passed over his face. "Excuse me for disturbing you," she said, rather petulantly; "I have to break in upon your privacy if I would see you at all." He gave her a searching glance, and then, laying aside his book and folding his arms, said pleasantly, "I am at your service now, Miss Leyton. What is it you wish?" Very briefly she stated her request, and then sitting down in the window, awaited his answer. It was not given immediately, and when he did speak, he said--"Rosamond, do you wish to go?" "Of course I do," she replied, "I want to go where it is not as lonesome as I find it here." "Lonesome, Rosamond, lonesome," he repeated. "Riverside has never been lonesome since--" he paused a moment and then added, "since you came here." The shadow disappeared from Rosamond's face, as she replied--"I did not suppose you cared to have me here. I thought you did not like me."