Just then Mr. Barton came into the room, fussy and ill at ease. Mr. Carruthers’ face hardened again, and I rose to say good-night. As he opened the door for me: “Promise you will come down to give me my coffee in the morning,” he said. “_Qui vivra verra_,” I answered, and sauntered out into the hall. He followed me, and watched as I went up the staircase. “Good-night!” I called softly, as I got to the top, and laughed a little--I don’t know why. He bounded up the stairs, three steps at a time, and before I could turn the handle of my door, he stood beside me. “I do not know what there is about you,” he said, “but you drive me mad--I shall insist upon carrying out my aunt’s wish after all! I shall marry you, and never let you out of my sight--do you hear?” Oh! such a strange sense of exaltation crept over me--it is with me still! Of course he probably will not mean all that to-morrow, but to have made such a stiff block of stone rush upstairs, and say this much now is perfectly delightful! I looked at him up from under my eyelashes. “No, you will not marry me,” I said, calmly; “or do anything else I don’t like, and now really good-night!” and I slipped into my room, and closed the door. I could hear he did not stir for some seconds. Then he went off down the stairs again, and I am alone with my thoughts. My thoughts! I wonder what they mean. What did I do that had this effect upon him? I intended to do something, and I did it, but I am not quite sure what it was. However, that is of no consequence. Sufficient for me to know that my self-respect is restored, and I can now go out and see the world with a clear conscience. _He_ has asked me to marry him! and _I_ have said I won’t! BRANCHES PARK, _Thursday night, Nov. 3rd, 1904_. DEAR BOB,--A quaint thing has happened to me! Came down here to take over the place, and to say decidedly I would not marry Miss Travers, and I find her with red hair and a skin like milk, and a pair of green eyes that look at you from a forest of black eyelashes with a thousand unsaid challenges. I should not wonder if I commit some folly. One has read of women like this in the _cinque-cento_ time in Italy, but up to now I had never met one. She is not in the room ten minutes before one feels a sense of unrest, and desire for one hardly knows what--principally to touch her, I fancy. Good Lord! what a skin! pure milk and rare roses--and the reddest Cupid’s bow of a mouth! You had better come down at once, (these things are probably in your line) to save me from some sheer idiocy. The situation is exceptional; she and I practically alone in the house, for old Barton does not count. She has nowhere to go, and as far as I can make out has not a friend in the world. I suppose I ought to leave--I will try to on Monday, but come down to-morrow by the 4 train. Yours, CHRISTOPHER.