“Four days ago,” he replied; “Monday it vus.” “It could not have been he,” said Lotte to herself, a sigh unconsciously escaping her lips. Mr. Bantom proceeded. “I wouldn’t answer nothin’ until I know’d what he wanted with you,” he observed. “That was right and kind of you, Mr. Bantom!” responded Lotte, thoughtfully. “No,” said the simple fellow, “but he told me that a gen’leman as he knew had taken a great interest in your welfare, and he didn’t like to think that such a pretty girl as you--I beg pardon, miss, them was his very words--should be working your eyes out o’ your ’ed when you orter be ridin’ in a carriage of your own, and therefore he wants to see you, and come to a arrangement with you, whereby he will give you a fortun’ and a carriage, and to make a lady on you, so that you should never ’ave to work no more.” Lotte listened to him in breathless astonishment. Gradually, as he proceeded, she felt her neck, face, and brow burn as if a hectic fever raged there. In the intensity of her scorn at this proposal, the purpose of which, with a woman’s quickness and penetration, she at once comprehended, her power of speech almost failed her, but, by an effort, she cleared her throat and said-- “Pray did the servant mention the _gentleman’s_ name?” “Well, no,” replied Mr. Bantom, not perceiving her emotion; “he wouldn’t do that; I axed him; but he said the gentleman ’ud do that hisself when he saw you.” Lotte drew a long breath, and, fixing her eyes upon Bantom’s face with a steadfast gaze to read all that was passing within his mind, she said, gravely-- “When you heard this extraordinary offer made, Mr. Bantom, what did you think of it? What said you in reply?” Mr. Bantom’s face brightened up. “I said,” he answered, earnestly, “that you deserved all the good fortun’ the Lord could shower upon you in this life, and I told him it would be a _‘appy day for me when I know’d that you _‘ad a fortun, and was a ridin’ in your own carridge.” Lotte saw that Bantom, in his simplicity of heart, did not detect the intention disguised in this liberal offer, but that he believed it to be a genuine sample of philanthropy on the part of some wealthy, romantic individual. “Did you mention my address?” she inquired anxiously. “Mr. Pupple wanted that badly, he did,” returned Mr. Bantom, smoothing his rough though new beaver hat, “but my wife said no. It ’ud be best to leave all in your ’ands, ’cos she was quite sure you’d act the right down true thing.”