Then all the good woman’s impatience vanished, and she came forward to meet him with her usual genial warmth. “Now, what is it you want to say, Ross? Of course, whatever it is, I am ready to do it; but we must talk fast, or there’s no knowing what will go on down stairs.” “Let your people take care of that, sister, they will know what is proper,” said Ross, smiling kindly upon the good woman, who laughed in return. “You see I did not wear them after all; just a little cluster here, to gather in the black lace—that don’t amount to anything, you know.” Here Mrs. Carter glanced down at her silver-grey satin and soft black lace with something like a sigh. It was not at all the toilet she had decided on, but Ross, with suggestive insinuations, had toned down the superb conglomeration of lace, satin and jewels, into this rich, matronly dress, which really made Mrs. Carter look almost aristocratic. “Nothing could be more becoming,” said Ross, in reply to her half-reproachful glance, “I am so pleased that you preferred to wear the lace I brought you. As for the brooch, it is just enough.” “Well, dear, if you think so; Carter rather wanted me to flare out a little more, but, of course, you know best. Now, what is it you want to talk about? Sit down here, and let us take it comfortable.” Ross seated himself upon the couch from which Mrs. Carter swept back her garments to make room for him. “Sister,” he said, with a faint quiver in his voice, “I have been thinking that you and I would be much happier in this great house, if we had some young person to enliven it.” Mrs. Carter drew back in her seat, and lifted both hands, “Herman Ross, _does_ this mean that you want to marry a young wife?” Ross smiled and shook his head. “No, sister, I have no thought of marrying any one; but I do think of adopting a girl, and want you to help me.” “Adopting a girl? Why, Ross, that is just what I have been thinking of myself—a pretty, little, curly-headed child, like one that’s in her grave. Of course, I’ll help you; more than that, I’ll do it for you—she shall be mine and Carter’s heiress.” “I was thinking of one who shall be my heiress,” said Ross, gently. “I cannot give her millions, but there will be enough for us both.” “Thinking of one—why, who can it be, Ross? I had no idea of your taking a fancy to any child.” “Nor have I, this is a young lady.” “You? You, Ross? A young lady?” “Yes, I will adopt her; all that I have or may have, shall, in the end, be hers. What I want of you, sister, is motherly protection for the girl. You will not refuse her a home?” “Refuse her! When did I refuse you anything? But a girl—a young lady—I don’t understand. Is it any one I know?” “You have seen her. You remember the young lady who helped select your shawl—Miss Eva Laurence?” “That splendid creature! You adopt her? “Yes, I will adopt her; in fact, you must do it for me if possible.” “And she is to live here?” “That is what I desire.” “As my daughter?”