“I hope you will, sir. I hope you won’t go back to work till thoroughly tired of play,” Espy said laughingly. “I may not wake in time to see you off in the morning, but you’ll find me here, I think, on your return to Philadelphia.” “Yes, I trust so; but if I shouldn’t--” “You shall hear from me; probably see me in Cranley in the fall. Good-night, father.” “Good-night, my son. Don’t fail to keep your promises.” And shaking hands cordially, they separated. It was late for a call at Madame Le Conte’s. Espy said so to himself as he left the hotel, yet set off upon that very errand, and not at all as if in haste to accomplish it. Truth to tell, he was half reluctant to meet Ethel, yet at the same time irresistibly drawn toward her. “And she’s rich!” he mused, sauntering slowly along; “rich, and a great heiress, while I--ah me!--am poor as a church-mouse. How can I urge her to marry me? Wouldn’t it be like saying, ‘Be my provider,’ instead of, ‘Let me provide for you’? I am too proud for that. But why has she left me in ignorance of her circumstances? Did she fear that I would want to marry her for her money? She might have known me better. Did _I_ find fault with her for resigning Mr. Kemper’s property? Did _I_ want to give her up when she was poor and friendless?” He grew angry and indignant as he put these queries to himself. “Yes; she might have known me better,” he repeated. “How could she suspect me of motives so base and sordid? But no, no, it could not be that! She _does_ know me better, is too noble herself to think that I could be capable of such meanness. No, she saw that it was a delight to me to feel that my work was to provide a home for her some day, and would not deprive me sooner than necessary of that pleasure. And yet why not tell me all? She ought to have no secrets from me, her affianced husband. And why let our marriage be delayed when there is no need? If I had sufficient means, would I not tell her of it at once, and beg that there might not be another week of delay? But she, I suppose, likes to be her own mistress, and keep her newly-acquired property in her own hands. I, perhaps, am not deemed fit to be trusted with the care of it.” And losing sight of the fact that womanly delicacy would forbid the course he was prescribing as proper for Ethel, he grew angry again. And so alternating between admiration and disgust at her reticence, he arrived at Madame Le Conte’s door and rang the bell. No one answered it. He stood waiting for several minutes, so busy with his own thoughts that this did not strike him as strange. Then, suddenly growing impatient, he was about to repeat his ring, when, glancing up, he perceived that the windows were all dark except those of the Madame’s bedroom, where a faint light seemed to be burning. “Gone to bed without waiting to see if I were coming as usual,” he muttered, descending the steps.