“A young girl, forsooth,” thought Miss Sands. “Is he coming to his _fadaises_, like the rest of them?” “You are older than she,” Roger added, “but I expect her to look like you some time hence.” “I gladly bequeath her my youth, as I come to give it up.” “You can never have been plain,” said Roger. “My friend, just now, is no beauty. But I assure you, you encourage me.” “Tell me about this young lady,” his companion rejoined. “It is interesting to hear about people one looks like.” “I should like to tell you,” said Roger, “but you would laugh at me.” “You do me injustice. Evidently this is a matter of sentiment. Genuine sentiment is the best thing in the world; and when I catch myself laughing at a mortal who confesses to it, I submit to being told that I have grown old only to grow silly.” Roger smiled approval. “I can only say,” he answered, “that this young friend of mine is, to me, the most interesting object in the world.” “In other words, you are engaged to marry her.” “Not a bit of it.” “Why, then, she is a deaf-mute whom you have rendered vocal, or a pretty heathen whom you have brought to Sunday school.” Roger laughed exuberantly. “You have hit it,” he said: “a deaf-mute whom I have taught to speak. Add to that, that she was a little blind, and that now she recognizes me with spectacles, and you will admit that I have reason to be proud of my work.” Then, after a pause he pursued, seriously, “If anything were to happen to her—” “If she were to lose her faculties—” “I should be in despair. But I know what I should do. I should come to you.” “O, I should be a poor substitute!” “I should make love to you,” Roger went on. “You would be in despair indeed. But you must bring me some supper.” Half an hour later, as the ladies were cloaking themselves, Mrs. Middleton, who had undertaken Roger’s case, asked Miss Sands for her impressions. These seemed to have been highly propitious. “He is not a shining light, perhaps,” the young lady said, “but he is an honest man. He is in earnest; after what I have been through, that is very pleasant. And by the way, what is this little deaf and dumb girl in whom he is interested?” Mrs. Middleton stared. “I never heard she was deaf and dumb. Very likely. He adopted her and brought her up. He has sent her abroad—to learn the languages!” Miss Sands mused as they descended the stairs. “He is a good man,” she said. “I like him.” It was in consequence, doubtless, of this last remark that Roger, the next morning, received a note from his friend. “You have made a hit; I shall never forgive you, if you don’t follow it up. You have only to be decently civil and then propose. Come and dine with me on Wednesday. I shall have only one guest. You know I always take a nap after dinner.” The same post that brought Mrs. Middleton’s note brought a letter from Nora. It was dated from Rome, and ran as follows:—