"But, my dear," she added, as a warning proviso, and with a touch of worldliness which her own life in England had made almost part of her nature, "though Mrs. Sampson is so deliciously simple and good, and Mr. Sampson is such an exquisite rough diamond, this Seth, whose trouble has brought us out here, with such undignified haste, is not the man to make the fuss about that you have been doing all the journey. He's a fine man, or will be when he recovers from his illness, I have no doubt; but, after all, I feel it my duty by your dead father to warn you that I think you are much too concerned about him for a girl in your position." "What on earth do you mean, auntie?" Rosebud exclaimed, pausing in the process of brushing out her obstinately curling hair. "What position have I but that which these dear people have helped me to--that Seth, himself, has made for me? I owe all I have, or am at this moment, to Seth. He saved me from a fate too terrible to contemplate. He has saved my life, not once, but half a dozen times; he found me my father's fortune, or the fortune which father has left for me when I marry. You are more unkind than ever I thought you could be. You wait, auntie, you may yet learn to--to appreciate Seth as I do. You see I know--you don't. You're good, and wise, and all that; but you don't know--Seth." "And it's very evident that you think you do, dear," Mrs. Rickards said, wearily rolling over and snuggling down amidst the snowy sheets of the soft feather-bed. "There is no question of thinking," Rosebud smiled mischievously into the looking-glass in the direction of her relative. "And if Seth were to ask me I would marry him to-morrow--there. Yes, and I'd make him get a special license to avoid unnecessary delay." Of a sudden Mrs. Rickards started up in bed. For one moment she severely eyed the girl's laughing face. Then her anger died out, and she dropped back on the pillow. "For the moment I thought you meant it," she said. "And so I do," was the girl's swift retort. "But there," as a horrified exclamation came from the bed, "he won't ask me, auntie," the girl went on, with a dash of angry impatience in her voice, "so you needn't worry. Seth has a sense of honor which I call quixotic, and one that might reasonably shame the impecunious fortune-hunters I've met since I have lived in England. No, I'm afraid if I were to marry Seth it wouldn't be his doing." "This Seth said you were a savage--and he's right."