The opened roll of newspapers was lying on the table near her. They were copies of The Earth, and the date of one of them by merest chance caught her eye. “How odd!” she said. “Those are old papers. Did you notice? Is it a mistake? This one is dated” She leaned forward, and her eye caught a word in a head-line. “The Klondike,” she read. “There's something in it about the Klondike.” He put his hand out and drew the papers away. “Don't you read that,” he said. “I don't want you to go to bed and dream about the Klondike. You've got to dream about the flat in Harlem.” “Yes,” she answered. “I mustn't think about sad things. The flat in Harlem is quite happy. But it startled me to see that word.” “I only sent for them--because I happened to want to look something up,” he explained. “How much is a pound, Miss Alicia?” “Four dollars and eighty-six cents,” she replied, recovering herself. “Go up head again. You're going to stay there.” When she gave him her hand on their parting for the night he held it a moment. A subtle combination of things made him do it. The calculations, the measurements, the nest from which one could look out over the Bronx, were prevailing elements in its make-up. Ann had been in each room of the Harlem flat, and she always vaguely reminded him of Ann. “We are relations, ain't we?” he asked. “I am sure we often seem quite near relations--Temple.” She added the name with very pretty kindness. “We're not distant ones any more, anyhow,” he said. “Are we near enough--would you let me kiss you good night, Miss Alicia?” An emotional flush ran up to her cap ribbons. “Indeed, my dear boy--indeed, yes.” Holding her hand with a chivalric, if slightly awkward, courtesy, he bent, and kissed her cheek. It was a hearty, affectionately grateful young kiss, which, while it was for herself, remotely included Ann. “It's the first time I've ever said good night to any one like that,” he said. “Thank you for letting me.” He patted her hand again before releasing it. She went up-stairs blushing and feeling rather as though she had been proposed to, and yet, spinster though she was, somehow quite understanding about the nest and Ann. CHAPTER XXI Lady Mallowe and her daughter did not pay their visit to Asshawe Holt, the absolute, though not openly referred to, fact being that they had not been invited. The visit in question had merely floated in the air as a delicate suggestion made by her ladyship in her letter to Mrs. Asshe Shaw, to the effect that she and Joan were going to stay at Temple Barholm, the visit to Asshawe they had partly arranged some time ago might now be fitted in.