“I hope so,” Mrs. Oliphant said gently, bending her head above the blue case. “After all, you can’t tell everything from a photograph.” She looked up at her husband as if arguing with him. “You _can’t_ tell much from a photograph.” “No,” he assented readily. “Of course you can’t. In fact, you can tell very little; but you can see this is a pretty girl, anyhow. I expect you’d better tell us a little more about her, Dan.” Dan complied. That is to say, he did his best to make them comprehend Lena’s perfection; and, touching lightly upon her descent from that somewhat shadowy figure in heroic antiquity, General McMillan—Dan felt sensitive for the general since Mrs. Savage’s suggestion about the Knights of Pythias—he kept as much as possible to the subject of Lena herself, and ended by declaring rather oratorically that she had just the qualities he had always admired in the noblest women. “I do hope so, Dan dear,” his mother said, her eyes still shining with tears in the firelight. “I do hope so!” “Yes,” Mr. Oliphant agreed, “I hope so, too, Dan; and anyhow, if you’ve cared enough about her to ask her to marry you, that’s the main thing. You can be sure your mother and father will do their best to be fond of anybody you’re fond of.” “But she _has_ those qualities, father,” Dan said, not quite sure, himself, why he seemed to be insisting upon this in a tone so plaintively argumentative. “Indeed she has! She has just exactly the qualities I’ve always admired in the noblest women I’ve ever known.” “In grandma, for instance?” Harlan inquired. “What?” “You said she had just the qualities you’ve observed in the noblest women. Well, grandma has noble qualities. I was wondering——” “No,” Dan said, swallowing. “Lena—well, she’s different.” “If she has the qualities that will help you in building your future,” Mrs. Oliphant said, “that will be enough for us.” “She has, mother. Those are just exactly the qualities she’s got. Don’t you think when—when——” He faltered, obviously in timidity, and glanced nervously at the observant Harlan. “When what, dear?” “Well, when—when a wife’s an—an inspiration,” he said, gulping the word out;—“well, isn’t that just everything?” “Of course, dear,” Mrs. Oliphant said comfortingly. Then, when she had touched her eyes with her lace-edged little handkerchief, she spoke more briskly. “This will be quite exciting news for your grandmother, Dan. Poor dear woman! She’s been waiting so anxiously for you to come home; and she’s grown so frail these last few months; she kept saying she was afraid she wouldn’t last till you got here. She’s devoted to Harlan, of course, but I think you’ve always been a little her favourite, Dan.” “A little?” Harlan repeated serenely. “She really doesn’t like me at all.” “Oh, yes, she does,” his mother protested. “She’s devoted to you, too, but she——” “No,” Harlan interrupted quietly; “she’s never liked me. I have no doubt when her will is read you’ll find it out.”