“Can't you guess?” he asked. “As something that might affect you, as something that might affect—us.” He leaned forward in his chair until his face was very close to hers. “Don't you understand what I mean, Harriett?” he went on, and his voice had become suddenly tender. “I wonder if you could think it worth while to care for a fellow like me; don't you know why I've been coming here?” “To see my Aunt Virginia,” she faltered. “Well, no—hardly, Harriett; but I fear you are not quite honest with me. You know that you have brought me here. I wanted to come long enough before I did; but there seemed no way. What are you going to tell me about caring for a fellow like me; caring in a particular way—I mean?” The colour came and went in the girl's face. “Of course I can wait—after all you don't know me so very well yet; but I'd like to think that my case is not entirely hopeless. Won't you tell me what I want to know, Harriett,”—he heard the swish of heavy silks in the hall, it was Virginia returning. “I'm going to come to-morrow for your answer,” he said quickly. The next day, after the young man had taken his leave of her, Harriett fled up-stairs to her mother's room with a burning face; while Norton drove away from the house apparently in the best of spirits, for he had the unmistakable air of a man who has just heard something that was unqualifiedly pleasant to hear. The girl hesitated nervously. “Mr. Norton has just left,” she said. “I thought I heard him, or some one, drive up to the gate.” “It was he,” said Harriett. Her mother went placidly on with her sewing. “He wants me to tell you that he wishes to come and see you very soon, mama,” said Harriett at last, with a little gasp. “Wants to see me, dear?” in mild surprise. “Yes.” “But what about?” “About—about me—he wants to tell you something.” “He seems to have told you already,” said Mrs. Walsh. The girl dropped on her knees before her mother, burying her face in her lap. There was a little silence between them, and then Mrs. Walsh said. “We must tell Virginia. I hope, dear, that she will approve.” Harriett glanced up quickly at this. She was very white of face. “Oh, you don't think she won't—you don't think that?” “Then you want her to approve?” And Harriett nodded; a single little emphatic inclination of the head. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE BEYOND the windows of the Golden West Saloon, a cold rain deluged Grant City. Gibbs, in his shirt-sleeves, sat on the edge of his bar and dangled his fat legs. Arling, disreputable and evil to the eye, nodded in a warm corner by the stove. Gibbs was speaking, and he addressed himself to Stephen Landray, who was striding back and forth across the room. “Better shut up the house, Steve, and let Mrs. Bassett go; and you and the boy come over and camp with my Julia and me. It will give Julia something to think of,” he urged hospitably.