“Gracious!” she cried incredulously. “Would they, really?” Already he thought her a wonderful being, but at this he showed some spirit. “I’m afraid so,” he said. She laughed, not offended, and exclaimed: “Oh, so you don’t _mind_ being a Westerner! I only meant you people are so funny about rubbing in the letter _R_ and overdoing the short A that no one can ever make a mistake about which of the provinces you belong in. I’ve been in the West, myself—rather west, that is. I didn’t care for it much.” “Where was it?” “Rochester. I believe you’re from farther out, aren’t you? Perhaps you can tell me if it’s true, what we hear things are like beyond Rochester.” “Things beyond Rochester?” he asked, mystified. “What sort of things do you mean?” “All sorts,” she answered. “I’ve always heard that when you get west of Rochester every house has a room you people call a ‘sitting-room’, and you always keep a sewing-machine in it and apples on a centre table, and all the men keep tobacco in their cheeks and say, ‘Wa’al, no, ma’am,’ and ‘Why, certainly, ma’am,’ and ‘Yes, _ma’am_!’ Isn’t that what it’s like?” “Who told you so?” “Oh, I had a cousin who used to visit people out there. She said it was funny but dreadful. Isn’t it?” “I wish you’d come and see,” he said earnestly. “I wish you and your brother’d come and let me show you.” “Good heavens,” she cried;—“but you’re hospitable! Do you always ask everybody to visit you after they’ve said two words to you?” “No, not everybody,” he returned, and on the impulse continued: “I’d ask _you_, though, after you’d said _one_ word to me.” And because he meant it, he instantly became red. “Good heavens!” she cried again, and stared at him thoughtfully, perceiving without difficulty his heightened colour. “Is that the way they talk in the West, Mr.—uh——” “Oliphant,” he said. “What?” “My name’s Oliphant,” he informed her apologetically. “You called me Mister Uh.” “I see,” she said, and as her attention was caught just then by something her sister was saying about Milly and Anna and Charlotte and Oliver, she turned from him to say something more, herself, about Milly and Anna and Charlotte and Oliver. Then, having turned away from him, she turned not back again, but seemed to have forgotten him. The son of the house presently took him away, the mother and her older daughter murmuring carelessly as the two young men rose to go, while Lena said more distinctly, “Good afternoon, Mister Uh.” But the unfortunate Daniel carried with him a picture that remained tauntingly before his mind’s eye; and he decided to stay in New York a little longer, though he had written his father that he would leave for home the next day. He had been stricken at first sight.