“And to think you are willing to be my wife! My wife!” and he folded her close again. A discreet tap on the door announced the arrival of the man Henry, and Gordon roused to the necessity of ordering lunch. He stepped to the door with a happy smile and held it open. “Come in a minute, Henry,” he said. “This is my wife. I hope you will henceforth take her wishes as your special charge, and do for her as you have done so faithfully for me.” The man’s eyes shone with pleasure as he bowed low before the gentle lady. “I is very glad to heah it, sah, and I offers you my congratchumlations, sah, and de lady, too. She can’t find no bettah man in the whole United States dan Mars’ Gordon. I’s mighty glad you done got ma’ied, sah, an’ I hopes you bof have a mighty fine life.” The luncheon was served in Henry’s best style, and his dark face shone as he stepped noiselessly about, putting silver and china and glass in place, and casting admiring glances at the lady, who stood holding the little miniature in her hand and asking questions with a gentle voice: “Your mother, you say? How dear she is! And she died so long ago! You never knew her? Oh, how strange and sweet and pitiful to have a beautiful girl-mother like that!” She put out her hand to his in the shelter of the deep window, and they thought Henry did not see the look and touch that passed between them; but he discreetly averted his eyes and smiled benignly at the salt-cellars and the celery he was arranging. Then he hurried out to a florist’s next door and returned with a dozen white roses, which he arranged in a queer little crystal pitcher, one of the few articles belonging to his mother that Gordon possessed. It had never been used before, except to stand on the mantel. It was after they had finished their delightful luncheon, and Henry had cleared the table and left the room, that Gordon remarked: “I wonder what has become of George Hayne. Do you suppose he means to try to make trouble?” Celia’s hands fluttered to her throat with a little gesture of fear. “Oh!” she said. “I had forgotten him! How terrible! He will do _something_, of course. He will do _everything_. He will probably carry out all his threats. How could I have forgotten! Perhaps Mamma is now in great distress. What can we do? What can _I_ do?” She looked up at him helplessly, and his heart bounded at the thought that she was his to protect as long as life should last, and that she already depended upon him. “Don’t be frightened,” he soothed her. “He cannot do anything very dreadful, and if he tries we’ll soon silence him. What he has written in those letters is blackmail. He is simply a big coward, who will run and hide as soon as he is exposed. He thought you did not understand law, and so took advantage of you. I’m sure I can silence him.”