The gentleman remarked, that could be talked of another time; and took his leave. Every trace of smiles disappeared from Mrs. Busby's face as he closed the door behind him. She stepped to the window and drew down the linen shade where the sun was coming too brightly in; and then she stood for some minutes upon the hearth rug, grave and thoughtful, one eyebrow arched in meditation as society never saw it arched. Her concluding thought might be summed up thus:--"When she is under my care, my young gentleman, I think she will _not_ be under yours. Preposterous!" Mr. Digby had his thoughts too as he drove homeward. They will never get on together, he said to himself. It will not be happy for Rotha, nor easy. And yet--it is the best thing I can do for her just now. She must have a woman's care; and whose could be so proper as her aunt's? Besides, I shall see her frequently; I shall know all that concerns her, for Rotha will tell me; and if things go wrong, I can at any time put in my hand and set them straight. I am sorry--but this is the thing to do; and there is no help for it. In spite of all which certainty in his own mind, Mr. Digby looked forward with positive uneasiness to the telling Rotha what was in store for her. There was no help for that either; it must be done; and Mr. Digby was not one to put off a duty because it was disagreeable. The next morning Rotha was at her drawing again, and Mr. Digby lay on the lounge, thinking how he should begin what he had to say. Rotha was looking particularly well; fresh and bright and happy; very busily intent over her drawing. How the girl had improved in these weeks, softened and refined and grown mannerly. She has good blood in her, thought Mr. Digby; her features shew it, and so do her instincts, and her aptitudes.---- "How would you like to go to school, Rotha?" She looked up, with the flash of interest and of feeling which came so readily to her eye. "I shouldn't like it as well as _this_, Mr. Digby,"--("this" meant the present course and manner of her education;) "but I suppose you could not go on teaching me always." "I am not tired of it, Rotha; but I think it would be better in many respects for you to be at school for a while. You will like it, too." "When shall I go, Mr. Digby?" she asked in a subdued voice, without looking up this time. "The sooner the better, now. The schools have all begun their terms some weeks ago. And then, Rotha, you must have a home in the city. You could not live out here at Fort Washington, and attend school in New York. I shall be obliged to go back to the city, too." "Then I would like to go," said Rotha simply. "But you must have more care than mine, my child; at least you must have other care. You must have some lady friend, to look after you as I cannot do. I am going to put you under your aunt's protection." Rotha's pencil fell from her hand and she raised her head now. "My aunt?" she repeated.