"Of course she shall go to school. I will see that she does. And I will see that she is under some woman's care who can take proper care of her. Do not let yourself be troubled on that score. I promise you, you need not. I will take as good care of her as if she were a little sister of my own." There was silence at first, the silence of a heart too full to find words. Mrs. Carpenter sat with her head a little bowed. "You will lose nothing by it," she said huskily after a few minutes. "There is a promise somewhere--" But with that she broke down and cried. "I don't know what you will do with her!" she said; "nor what anybody will do with her, except her mother. She is a wayward child; passionate; strong, and also weak, on the side of her affections. She has never learned yet to submit her will, though for love she is capable of great devotion. She has shewed it to me this past winter." "Is there any other sort of devotion that is worth much?" asked the young man. "Duty?--" "Surely the devotion of love is better." "Yes--. But duty ought to be recognized for what it is." "Nay, I think it ought to be recognized for a pleasure. Here she comes.-- Well, Rotha, was the walk pleasant?" "No." "Indeed? Why not?" "How could it be, Mr. Digby? Not a bit of good air, nor anything pleasant to see; just all hot and dirty." "I thought you said there were some flowers in front of some of the shops?" her mother said. "Yes, mother; but they looked melancholy." "Did they?" said Mr. Digby smiling. "Suppose you go with me to-morrow, and I will take you to the Park." "O! will you?" said Rotha with suddenly opening eyes. "Can you?" "If Mrs. Carpenter permits." CHAPTER VII. MENTAL PHILOSOPHY. The next day being again warm, Mr. Digby did not come for Rotha till the afternoon was far advanced. They took then one of the street cars, which would bring them to the Park entrance. The way was long and the drive slow. It was also silent, of necessity; and both parties had leisure for thoughts, as well as material enough.