“And I can’t leave you!” she retorted with a queer little laugh, tears in her voice; “but I know Robert won’t take any money for it; I--I shouldn’t dare offer it.” “You needn’t, but I shall,” replied her father calmly; “if he tells me he’s in love with you I shall not be surprised; no one will be any the worse for it, Rose.” “I should be very sorry,” she said simply. The old man gave her a keen glance and pursed his lips as he wrote the check. “He’ll never take it,” she repeated, taking up her pitcher again. “Well, I’m not anxious to give him you instead!” said the judge. Rose laughed a little in spite of herself. “You need not!” she replied. Her father signed the check. “Rose,” he said, in an absent voice, “what did Gerty English say about Margaret’s divorce?” Rose bent assiduously to her task. “Not much,” she answered quietly; “just that it was settled, she meant to get one; she’s very unhappy.” “Of course she means to marry again, that’s what they do these days,” the judge said, in a tone of fine irony; “one husband isn’t enough or one wife. Solomon ought to get here! Of course she’ll marry Fox.” Rose was silent; through the open window she could see the buds on the Persian lilac, but she shivered. “What I should like to know,” said the judge shrewdly, “is this--_does Fox want to marry her_?” Rose put her hand to her throat with a helplessly futile gesture. “They say he was in love with her long ago, father.” The old man smiled. “My dear child,” he remarked, “women always remember that Jacob served seven years! But Fox is a genius, an unusual man and probably as fickle as the wind. However, he’ll have to reap as he has sown; doubtless he has dangled at Margaret’s elbow; it’s been the fashion. Well, well, it will very likely thwart his career and, if so, he’ll deserve it, but I hoped great things of him though I’ve feared him a little too; genius is like fire--it burns where it touches.” He rose and put aside his papers. “I’ve written to Robert and enclosed the check,” he said; “he’ll get it to-morrow.” “Then I’ll go there to-day,” said Rose; “I shouldn’t dare to-morrow; he’ll be furious.” “Not a bit of it, he has too much sense,” retorted the judge; “besides, he can’t have my girl yet!” “Nor ever!” said Rose smiling as her father bent suddenly and kissed her. “Ever is a long word,” he replied and laughed gently; in his heart he believed that Allestree would make her happy. * * * * * An hour later Rose joined Mrs. Allestree on the way to the studio. The old lady was out walking in the spring sunshine, her fine aged face mapped close with delicate wrinkles and little puckers and her keen old eyes bright and alert in spite of the weight of years.