"That is unfair," he returned, "for I know absolutely nothing about you." "Very likely. Your sister only came to Pearfield three weeks ago." "Pearfield? Have you been at Pearfield? How strange!" "Oh, it is very simple. My sister’s husband was not well,—he was all tired out with the Fair business, and one thing and another, and the doctor frightened him into thinking he must have absolute rest; so he bethought him of this little village and Aunt Love. Of course you know Aunt Love? She is one of your stanchest admirers. I am not at all sure that when you take your hat off I shan’t see a little halo clinging to your locks." "Oh, come now. That is too bad." "Well, we went there the middle of June, and we have been there ever since. Three weeks ago, as I said, your sister came up—or your sister-in-law, isn’t she?" "Yes, but all the sister I have, so I claim her." "I should think you would. She is lovely. She and Blitzen have been the bright spots in my summer." "Oh, of course, Blitzen. I had forgotten him." "He is delightful. So sympathetic! Our temperaments are just alike." Page listened with interest. He could imagine the small dog and this young woman in a romp. He could picture her, and he liked to, in a light cambric gown, going at evening with Blitzen up into the pasture to get the cow. "Aunt Love has given him to me," continued the girl complacently. Her companion smiled reminiscently. "What does Blitzen say to the transfer?" he asked. "I sometimes suspect he doesn’t know it," she returned seriously. "I mention it to him every day, though. Mr. Van Tassel laughs at me, and says that I needn’t expect to take the dog,—that Blitzen thinks I’m a humbug." Page was not listening. "Mr. Van Tassel?" he repeated in blank surprise. "Yes. Didn’t I say? Excuse me. He is my sister’s husband—and your uncle. I forgot that. The dearest man that ever lived." Page felt staggered, and confusedly afraid that he should show the shock he felt. His eyes fell. This was one of that obscure family who had "roped Uncle Richard in." Like lightning there flashed across his mind the consideration that beauty had made his uncle weak. "Yes—ahem"—he stammered, for he feared it might have been long that he had sat there dazed. "I’m sorry to hear that my uncle is ailing. Jack—his son knows nothing of it." "No; it is Mr. Van Tassel’s wish that his son should not be informed of his indisposition." The girl’s reply sounded curiously stilted in contrast to her previous ease of manner. Page blamed himself for the new coldness. "Just like his unselfishness, isn’t it?" he returned cordially. "I can’t help thinking how surprised Hilda will be to see me appear with you. She does not know when to expect me."