“True enough—true enough! No man is sufficient to himself. That which men call independence of our fellow-creatures only brings loneliness. But about this house, nephew? It belongs to me—I own all that property, every foot of it, and better paying houses can’t be found. Old Mrs. Halstead lived in one of ’em before she took up her residence with her husband’s son, and we’ve kept it on hand, thinking that she might want to go back.” “Then you know Mrs. Halstead?” “A little. She was my tenant. Well, your suspicions were right. Young Savage did want to make the family more comfortable. He is an honorable young fellow, Gould, and did not want to risk the girl’s good name by direct help—so he went to Halstead’s daughter.” “What, Miss Eliza?” “No. I think they call her Georgiana.” “Confound his impudence!” muttered Gould. “What were you saying, nephew?” “Nothing, sir. But is Savage so intimate with the Halsteads as that?” “Decidedly. Mrs. Savage hints that there is an engagement between her son and the young lady.” “I—I don’t believe it, sir.” “Nor I. At any rate, this Georgiana consented to act as his agent; and, thinking as you do, that old people are worth something in an emergency, she went at once to her grandmother for help. Her grandmother came to me about the house, and I took the whole affair off her hands, knowing what a scamp you have been, and guessing that you would be wild to make atonement.” “Uncle!” “Well, sir.” “You are too good. I am unworthy of all this kindness.” “Of course you are!” said the old man, looking at him with eyes that twinkled as through a mist. “But what about this little Halstead girl?” “Uncle, since I saw her in that garret with that family, I honestly believe I am getting in love with that girl!” “Hem!” muttered the old man, pressing his thin lips to keep them from smiling too broadly; “the second confession in twenty-four hours. I wonder if Miss Eliza would lend me her flying cupid?” “Why, what do you know about the cupid?” inquired Gould, laughing. “Oh! the young lady sent for me, and I went. She was in full state with that little winged imp dancing over her.” “Did she ask you to sit on the ottoman?” asked Gould, going into convulsions of laughter. “Yes; but I told her my joints were too rusty.” “And she answered that ‘hearts never grow old.’ I know all about it. Oh! uncle, beware! But what on earth did she want of you?” “She wanted to make some inquiries about my nephew.” “What?” “How much he was worth in his own right, and if I knew that his heart was touched.” “No!” “If he would, in the end, be my heir; and if I intended to divide with him before my death.” “Oh! ah, this is too much. Had the creature an idea about Georgiana? Was I goose enough to let her guess that?” “Georgiana! Nothing of that; Miss Eliza was speaking in her own behalf.” “Oh, uncle! that’s too bad; with all my faults, I do not deserve that.” “It is the solemn truth, though.”