“That’s right. I approve your delicacy. Of course you are sure of your case. She is altogether lovely,—she is one in a thousand. I really envy you; upon my word, Mr. Lawrence, I am jealous. She has a style of her own. It is not quite beauty; it is not quite cleverness. It belongs neither altogether to her person, nor yet to her mind. It’s a kind of way she has. It’s a way that may lead her far. She has pretty things, too; one of these days she may take it into her head to be a beauty of beauties. Nature never meant her to hold up her head so well for nothing. Ah, how wrinkled and faded it makes one feel! To be sixteen years old, with that head of hair, with health and good connections, with that amount of good-will at the piano, it’s the very best thing in the world, if they but knew it! But no! they must leave it all behind them; they must pull their hair to pieces; they must get rid of their complexions; they must be twenty; they must have lovers, and go their own gait. Well, since it must come, we must attend to the profits: they will take care of the pleasures. Give Nora to me for a year. She needs a woman, a wise woman, a woman like me. Men, when they undertake to meddle with a young girl’s education, are veriest old grandmothers. Let me take her to Europe and bring her out in Rome. Don’t be afraid; I will guard your interests. I will bring you back the most charming girl in America. I see her from here!” And describing a great curve in the air with her fan, Mrs. Keith inclined her head to one side in a manner suggestive of a milliner who descries in the bosom of futurity the ideal bonnet. Looking at Roger, she saw that her point was gained; and Nora, having just finished her piece, was accordingly summoned to the sofa and made to sit down at Mrs. Keith’s feet. Roger went and stood before the fire. “My dear Nora,” said Mrs. Keith, as if she had known her from childhood, “how should you like to go with me to Rome?” Nora started to her feet, and stood looking open-eyed from one to the other. “Really?” she said. “Does Roger—” “Roger,” said Mrs. Keith, “finds you so hard to manage that he has made you over to me. I forewarn you, I am a terrible woman. But if you are not afraid, I shall scold you and pinch you no harder than I would a daughter of my own.” “I give you up for a year,” said Roger. “It is hard, troublesome as you are.” Nora stood wavering for a moment, hesitating where to deposit her excess of joy. Then graciously dropping on her knees before Mrs. Keith, she bent her young head and got rid of it in an ample kiss. “I am not afraid of you,” she said simply. Roger turned round and began to poke the fire.