Every day Vane walked in the garden with his mother--a painful duty, for she never remembered him. Her dementia was quite harmless now, and she sometimes spoke to Vane of himself, not knowing him, but never mentioned his father. Curiously enough her talk was much of Mary, and of the English girl who had been the object of his boyish affections. Vane heard casually of her marriage that summer, and was more surprised than pleased to find how little the news affected him. Once in a while, however, he caught himself wondering what Miss Thomas was doing; and a week after his arrival he received a note from her to thank him for the flowers he had sent. She also said that they were at some place in Pennsylvania for the summer, far from the madding crowd, but she found the place very stupid and the people inane. There was nothing to do there. The men were all young Philadelphians, she wrote, and generally uninteresting. Vane was glad to get the note, and of course never thought of replying. At this time Vane was a handsome, erect fellow, with a large aquiline nose, and heavy eyebrows shading quiet eyes. Most of the people knew him well as the doctor's protégé. One day the good old doctor came to him with an air of much mysterious importance. He passed Vane's arm through his, and led him to his favorite walk up and down the garden. "My son," he began, tapping him on the shoulder, and beginning in a way he evidently thought to be diplomatic, "you are growing older, and it is not good for you to be alone. Listen! it is time you should marry." Vane looked up quickly, and then struggled to repress a smile. "Listen, my child," continued the doctor, much pleased, "I have to propose a _parti_ of the most charming--but of the most charming! My wife's own cousin and two hundred thousand livres of _dot_! What say you?" Vane was touched, and found it hard to answer. "My child," the old man went on, "I love you like my own son--my own son, see you? You are not noble _de naissance--mais, le cœur--d'ailleurs_, neither are you _rôturier, non plus_. I have spoken of you to Madame la Comtesse de la Roche-aigue, and Madame la Comtesse _veut bien_. Her daughter is charming--but a child adorable! You will let me present you _comme futur_--what say you?" Vane bent over and took the hand of his old friend. "My father," he said, "I would do more for you than for any one living. You have been more than a father to me. God bless you for it! But this I cannot do. I shall never marry." Vane spoke seriously and with some tragic effect, like a Manfred or a Werther. The old man sighed deeply. He knew Vane too well to press the matter. "Ah!" said he, "you say you will never marry. I know better. You have seen some American--_quelque petite Américaine rusée_. _Hélas!_ and we might all have been so happy." The doctor said no more on the subject, but was sad and quiet during the rest of Vane's visit.