! My hat, you are pretty! Ellen dear,
my only wish is to make you as happy as you are bonny."

She looked at him searchingly, and her voice had a note of guarded
alarm.

"What do you mean?"

His air became sympathy itself.

"My dear girl, I have been greatly distressed to hear that all has not
been going smoothly with you and Andrew."

She gave him a quick glance and then looked away.

"Indeed!" she answered a little coldly. "Who told you that?"

"I can read it in my son's altered health."

She looked at him in surprise, but without anxiety.

"I didn't know there was anything the matter with him."

"He had to hasten up to London for a change of air."

"I hope it did him good," she said indifferently.

"My dear girl, have you no wish to hurry to his bedside?"

"I'm afraid I shouldn't be any good if I did."

"And you wouldn't find him in bed, either," smiled Mr. Walkingshaw, with
a change of manner. "No, no, Ellen; you needn't pretend you're in love
with Andrew if that's all the concern you feel. And I may tell you at
once that he's as tough as ever, and as great a fool. The fellow is
totally unworthy of you, so don't you worry your head about him any
longer."

He bent over her confidentially.

"Supposing some one were to cut him out, eh?"

"Some one--" she stammered. "Who?"

"Guess!" he smiled.

She did guess; and it was a shocking surmise.

"I--I have no idea," she fibbed.

"Oh, come now, hang it, look me in the eye and repeat that!"

For an instant, she looked into that roguish eye, and her worst
suspicions were confirmed.

"Mr. Walkingshaw," she answered, with trembling candor, "I feel very
much honored, but really I must ask you not to--not to say anything
more. Our ages--oh, everything--I couldn't! I had better go back now."

The philanthropic father gasped.

"Ellen! stop! My dear child, I don't mean myself! Good heavens, I am
far too old for a young girl like you!"

Yet it was at that moment that he suddenly realized he wasn't.

"Then--then what--" she began, and stopped, overwhelmed with confusion.

Hurriedly he endeavored to put things once more upon a paternal footing.

"My fault, my dear Ellen, my fault entirely. Naturally you
thought--er--yes, yes, it was quite natural. I--I put it badly. I didn't
think what I was saying. The fact is, I've been"--a brilliant
inspiration suddenly illumined the chaos of his mind--"I've been so
troubled about poor Frank!"

Her expression alt