“Blue, are they?” interrupted Tembarom. “I know the kind. I'm on to the whole thing. And what's more, I'm going to fix it. You tell Rose--and tell her from me--that she's going to leave that place, and you're going to stay in this one, and--well, presently things'll begin to happen. They're going to be all right--ALL RIGHT,” he went on, with immensely convincing emphasis. “She's going to have that little home of her own.” He paused a moment for reflection, and then a sudden thought presented itself to him. “Why, darn it!” he exclaimed, “there must be a whole raft of little homes that belong to me in one place or another. Why couldn't I fix you both up in one of them?” “Oh, sir!” Pearson broke forth in some slight alarm. He went so fast and so far all in a moment. And Pearson really possessed a neat, well-ordered conscience, and, moreover, “knew his place.” “I hope I didn't seem to be expecting you to trouble yourself about me, sir. I mustn't presume on your kindness.” “It's not kindness; it's--well, it's just human. I'm going to think this thing over. You just keep your hair on, and let me do my own valeting, and you'll see I'll fix it for you somehow.” What he thought of doing, how he thought of doing it, and what Pearson was to expect, the agitated young man did not know. The situation was of course abnormal, judged by all respectable, long-established custom. A man's valet and his valet's “young woman” were not usually of intimate interest. Gentlemen were sometimes “kind” to you--gave you half a sovereign or even a sovereign, and perhaps asked after your mother if you were supporting one; but-- “I never dreamed of going so far, sir,” he said. “I forgot myself, I'm afraid.” “Good thing you did. It's made me feel as if we were brothers.” He laughed again, enjoying the thought of the little thing who cared for Pearson “too much” and had eyes that were “that blue.” “Say, I've just thought of something else. Have you bought her an engagement-ring yet?” “No, sir. In our class of life jewelry is beyond the means.” “I just wondered,” Mr. Temple Barholm said. He seemed to be thinking of something that pleased him as he fumbled for his pocket-book and took a clean banknote out of it. “I'm not on to what the value of this thing is in real money, but you go and buy her a ring with it, and I bet she'll be so pleased you'll have the time of your life.” Pearson taking it; and recognizing its value in UNreal money, was embarrassed by feeling the necessity of explanation. “This is a five-pound note, sir. It's too much, sir, it is indeed. This would FURNISH THE FRONT PARLOR.” He said it almost solemnly. Mr. Temple Barholm looked at the note interestedly. “Would it? By jinks!” and his laugh had a certain softness of recollection. “I guess that's just what Ann would say. She'd know what it would furnish, you bet your life!”