“Nowadays,” she said, taking the word up sharply, “they’re just the same. They fooled the young men then just the same as they fool ’em now. They make a young man like you think they know everything, because they’re pretty and talk that affected way Harlan does.” “But with them it isn’t affected, grandma. It’s natural with them. They’ve _always_——” But the obdurate old lady contradicted him instantly. “It’s not! It isn’t natural for any human being to talk like that! You mustn’t bring one of those girls out here to live, Dan.” “Grandma”—he began in an uneasy voice; “Grandma, I came here to tell you——” “Yes, I was afraid of it,” she said. “I was afraid of it.” “Afraid of what?” A plaintive frown appeared upon her forehead before she answered. She sighed deeply, as if the increased rapidity of her breathing had made her insecure of continuing to breathe at all; and her frail hands, folded in her lap, moved nervously. “Don’t do it, Dan,” she said. “You ought to wait a few years before you marry, anyway. You’re so young, and one of those New York girls wouldn’t understand things here; she wouldn’t know enough not to feel superior. You’d just make misery for yourself.” But at this he laughed confidently. “You don’t know the one I’m thinkin’ of,” he said. “You’ve guessed something of what I came to tell you, grandma, but you’ve certainly missed fire about her! I’ll show you.” And from his breast pocket he took an exquisite flat case of blue leather and silver; opened it, and handed it to her. “There’s her photograph. I’d like to see if you think _she’s_ the kind you’ve been talkin’ about!” Mrs. Savage put on the eye-glasses she wore fastened to a thin chain round her neck, and examined the photograph of Lena McMillan. She looked at it steadily for a long minute, then handed it back to her grandson, removed her glasses, and, without a word, again folding her hands in her lap, looked out of the window. Under these discomfiting circumstances Dan said, as hopefully as he could, “You’ve changed your mind now, haven’t you, grandma?” “On account of that picture?” she asked, without altering her attitude. “Yes. Don’t you think she’s—don’t you think she’s——” “Don’t I think she’s what?” Mrs. Savage inquired in a dead voice. “Don’t you think she’s perfect?” “Perfect?” Expressionlessly, she turned and looked at him. “What are your plans, Dan?” “You mean, when do we expect to——” “No. What business are you going into?” “Well——” He paused doubtfully; “I still hope—I mean, if I don’t have to go to New York to live——” “So?” she interrupted with seeming placidity. “She declines to come here to live, does she? She hates it here, does she, already?” “I don’t think she would,” he said quickly. “Not if she once got used to it. You see she doesn’t know anything about it; she’s never been west of Rochester, and she only _thinks_ she wouldn’t like it. I’ve been doin’ my best to persuade her.” “But you couldn’t?”