"Yes, I do; I wish you were safely and suitably married. I'm worried, Garry; you are becoming too good-looking not to get into some horrid complication--as poor Jim Wayward did; and now he's done for, finished! Oh, I wish I didn't feel so responsible for you. And I _wish_ you weren't going to the Cardrosses' to live for months!" He leaned forward, laughing, and took his aunt's slim hands between his own sunburned fists. "You cunning little thing," he said, "if you talk that way I'll marry you off to one of the faithful three; you and Virginia too. Lord, do you think I'm down here to cut capers when I've enough hard work ahead to drive a dozen men crazy for a year? As for your beautiful Miss Cardross--why I saw a girl in a boat--not long ago--who really was a beauty. I mean to find her, some day; and that _is_ something for you to worry about!" "Garry! _Tell_ me!" But he rose, still laughing, and saluted Miss Palliser's hands. "If you and Virginia have nothing better on I'll dine with you at eight. Yes? No?" "Of course. Where are you going now?" "To report to Mr. Cardross--and brave beauty in its bower," he added mischievously. "I'll doubtless be bowled over first shot and come around for a dinner and a blessing at eight this evening." "Don't joke about it," she said as they rose together and stood for a moment at the window looking down into the flowering gardens. "Is it not a jolly scene?" she added--"the fountain against the green, and the flowers and the sunshine everywhere, and all those light summer gowns outdoors in January, and--" She checked herself and laid her hand on his arm; "Garry, do you see that girl in the wheel-chair!--the one just turning into the gardens!" He had already seen her. Suddenly his heart stood still in dread of what his aunt was about to say. He knew already somehow that she was going to say it, yet when she spoke the tiny shock came just the same. "That," said his aunt, "is Shiela Cardross. Is she not too lovely for words?" "Yes," he said, "she is very beautiful." For a while they stood together there at the window, then he said good-bye in a rather subdued manner which made his aunt laugh that jolly, clear laugh which never appealed to him in vain. "You're not mortally stricken already at your first view of her, are you?" she asked. "Not mortally," he said. "Then fall a victim and recover quickly. And _don't_ let me sit here too long without seeing you; will you?" She went to the door with him, one arm linked in his, brown eyes bright with her pride and confidence in him--in this tall, wholesome, clean-built boy, already on the verge of distinction in his rather unusual profession. And she saw in him all the strength and engaging good looks of his dead father, and all the clear and lovable sincerity of his mother--her only sister--now also dead. "You _will_ come to see me sometimes--won't you, Garry?" she repeated wistfully.