"I've promised to help her with her books," said he. "Some of the journal entries puzzle her; and she has an idea that The Inn ought to have more capital. And we are going into that, too." "I hope," said Mary, "that you aren't going to lend us money without consulting me." Chef was in a distant corner, quite out of ear-shot. And Mr. Langham, emboldened by one of the most delicious breakfasts he had ever eaten, shot an arch glance at Miss Darling. "I wouldn't consult you about lending money," he said; "I wouldn't consult you about giving money. But any time you'll let me consult you about _sharing_ money----" Panic overtook him, and he turned and fled. But upon Mary's brow was no longer any ripple of disappointment--only the unbroken alabaster of smooth serenity. She reached for the household keys and said to herself: "Maud is a steady girl--even if the rest of us aren't." She caught a glimpse of herself in the bottom of a highly polished copper utensil and couldn't help being pleased with what she saw. On the way to the office Mr. Langham fell in with Arthur. This one, Uncas scolding and chatting upon his shoulder, was starting off for a day's botanizing--or dreaming maybe. "Arthur--one moment, please," said Langham. "As the head of the family I want to consult you about something." "Yes?" said Arthur sweetly. "Of course, Uncas, you are too noisy." And he put the offended little beast into his green collecting case. "I never would have come here," said Mr. Langham, "if it hadn't been for that advertisement." Arthur frowned slightly. "You mean----" "Yes. But I came," said Mr. Langham, "not as a pagan Turk but as a Christian gentleman. I was just about to take passage for Liverpool when I saw your sister Mary looking out at me from _The Four Seasons_. And so I wrote to ask if I could come here. I have lived well, but I am not disappointed. I am very rich----" "My dear Sam," said Arthur, "you are the best fellow in the world. What do you want of me?" "To know that you think I'd try my best to make a girl happy if she'd let me." "A girl?" smiled Arthur. "_Any_ girl?" "In all the world," said Mr. Langham, "there is only one girl." "If I were you," said Arthur, "I'd ask her what _she_ thought about it." Langham assumed a look of terrible gloom. "If she didn't think well of it I'd want to cut my throat. I'd rather keep on living in blissful uncertainty, but I wanted _you_ to know--_why_ I am here, and _why_ I want to stay on and on." "Why, I'm very glad to know," said Arthur, "but surely it's your own affair." Mr. Langham shook his head. "Last night," said he, "I was dozing on my little piazza. Who should row by at a distance but Miss Gay and Miss Lee. You know how sounds carry through an Adirondack night? Miss Lee said to Miss Gay: 'I tell you he doesn't. Not _really_. He's just a male flirt.' 'A butterfly,' said Miss Gay." "But how do you know they were referring to you?"