It seemed to her that he was old enough to be her father, then, and it almost seemed so to him. Giving her a very paternal look, he answered, "Yes, child, you shall stay as long as you like and now go, or Mrs. Peters will be wondering what keeps you." Rosamond started to leave the room, but ere she reached the door she paused, and turning to Mr. Browning, said, "You have made me _so_ happy, and I like you so much, I wish you'd let me kiss your hand--may I?" It was a strange question, and it sent the blood tingling to the very tips of Mr. Browning's fingers. "Why, ye-es,--I don't know. What made you think of that?" he said, and Rosamond replied,--"I always kissed father when he made me very happy. It was all I could do." "But I am not your father," stammered Mr. Browning; "I shall not be twenty-five until November. Still you can do as you please." "Not twenty-five yet," repeated Rosamond;--"why, I thought you were nearer _forty_. I don't believe I'd better, though I like you just as well. Good night." He heard her go through the hall, up the stairs, through the upper hall, and then all was still again. "What a strange little creature she is," he thought; "so childlike and frank, but how queer that she should ask to _kiss me!_ Wouldn't Susan be shocked if she knew it, and won't she be horrified when I tell her I _am_ going to educate the girl. I shouldn't have thought of it but for her. And suppose Ben does fall in love with her. If he knew a little more, it would not be a bad match. Somebody must keep up our family, or it will become extinct. Susan and I are the only ones left, and _I_"--here he paused, and starting to his feet, he paced the floor hurriedly, nervously, as if seeking to escape from some pursuing evil. "It is terrible," he whispered, "but I _can_ bear it and will," and going to his room he sought his pillow to dream strange dreams of tresses black, and ringlets brown,--of fierce, dark eyes, and shining orbs, whose owner had asked to kiss his hand, and mistaken him for her sire. CHAPTER III. BEN'S VISIT. The next morning, as Mrs. Van Vechten was slowly making her toilet alone, there came a gentle rap at her door, and Rosamond Leyton appeared, her face fresh and blooming as a rose-bud, her curls brushed back from her forehead, and her voice very respectful, as she said--"I have come to ask your pardon for my roughness yesterday. I can do better, and if you will let me wait on you while you stay, I am sure I shall please you."