“Surely it is strange,” she answered. “What are you? Neither my brother, nor my father, nor my uncle, nor my cousin,—nor even, by law, my guardian.” “By law! My dear child, what do you know about law?” “I know that if I should run away and leave you now, you could not force me to return.” “That’s fine talk! Who told you that?” “No one; I thought of it myself. As I grow older, I ought to think of such things.” “Upon my word! Of running away and leaving me?” “That is but one side of the question. The other is that you can turn me out of your house this moment, and no one can force you to take me back. I ought to remember such things.” “Pray what good will it do you to remember them?” Nora hesitated a moment. “There is always some good in not losing sight of the truth.” “The truth! You are very young to begin to talk about the truth.” “Not too young. I am old for my age. I ought to be!” These last words were uttered with a little sigh which roused Roger to action. “Since we are talking about the truth,” he said, “I wonder whether you know a tithe of it.” For an instant she was silent; then, rising slowly to her feet, “What do you mean?” she asked. “Is there any secret in all that you have done for me?” Suddenly she clasped her hands, and eagerly, with a smile, went on: “You said the other day you had a romance. Is it a real romance, Roger? Are you, after all, related to me,—my cousin, my brother?” He let her stand before him, perplexed and expectant. “It is more of a romance than that.” She slid upon her knees at his feet. “Dear Roger, do tell me,” she said. He began to stroke her hair. “You think so much,” he answered: “do you never think about the future, the real future, ten years hence?” “A great deal.” “What do you think?” She blushed a little, and then he felt that she was drawing confidence from his face. “Promise not to laugh!” she said, half laughing herself. He nodded. “I think about my husband!” she proclaimed. And then, as if she had, after all, been very absurd, and to forestall his laughter, “And about your wife!” she quickly added. “I want dreadfully to see her. Why don’t you marry?” He continued to stroke her hair in silence. At last he said sententiously, “I hope to marry one of these days.” “I wish you would do it now,” Nora went on. “If only she would be nice! We should be sisters, and I should take care of the children.” “You are too young to understand what you say, or what I mean. Little girls should not talk about marriage. It can mean nothing to you until you come yourself to marry,—as you will, of course. You will have to decide and choose.” “I suppose I shall. I shall refuse him.” “What do you mean?” But, without answering his question, “Were you ever in love, Roger?” she suddenly asked. “Is that your romance?” “Almost.” “Then it is not about me, after all?”