"Why, certainly, Mr. Burnamy," she began, but she saw that he did not wish her to continue. "Because," he went on, "it's a little matter that I shouldn't like to go wrong in." He told her of his having overheard what Miss Triscoe had said to her father, and his belief that she was talking about the lower berth. He said he would have wished to offer it, of course, but now he was afraid they might think he had overheard them and felt obliged to do it. "I see," said Mrs. March, and she added, thoughtfully, "She looks like rather a proud girl." "Yes," the young fellow sighed. "She is very charming," she continued, thoughtfully, but not so judicially. "Well," Burnamy owned, "that is certainly one of the complications," and they laughed together. She stopped herself after saying, "I see what you mean," and suggested, "I think I should be guided by circumstances. It needn't be done at once, I suppose." "Well," Burnamy began, and then he broke out, with a laugh of embarrassment, "I've done it already." "Oh! Then it wasn't my advice, exactly, that you wanted." "No!" "And how did he take it?" "He said he should be glad to make the exchange if I really didn't mind." Burnamy had risen restlessly, and she did not ask him to stay. She merely said: "Oh, well, I'm glad it turned out so nicely." "I'm so glad you think it was the thing to do." He managed to laugh again, but he could not hide from her that he was not feeling altogether satisfied. "Would you like me to send Mr. March, if I see him?" he asked, as if he did not know on what other terms to get away. "Do, please!" she entreated, and it seemed to her that he had hardly left her when her husband came up. "Why, where in the world did he find you so soon?" "Did you send him for me? I was just hanging round for him to go." March sank into the chair at her side. "Well, is he going to marry her?" "Oh, you may laugh! But there is something very exciting!" She told him what had happened, and of her belief that Burnamy's handsome behavior had somehow not been met in kind. March gave himself the pleasure of an immense laugh. "It seems to me that this Mr. Burnamy of yours wanted a little more gratitude than he was entitled to. Why shouldn't he have offered him the lower berth? And why shouldn't the old gentleman have taken it just as he did? Did you want him to make a counteroffer of his daughter's hand? If he does, I hope Mr. Burnamy won't come for your advice till after he's accepted her." "He wasn't very candid. I hoped you would speak about that. Don't you think it was rather natural, though?" "For him, very likely. But I think you would call it sinuous in some one you hadn't taken a fancy to." "No, no. I wish to be just. I don't see how he could have come straight at it. And he did own up at last." She asked him what Burnamy had done for the magazine, and he could remember nothing but that one small poem, yet unprinted; he was rather vague about its value, but said it had temperament.