asked Graciella.

"There is some mystery," he said, "which she seems unable to explain
without speech. And then, she is queer--as queer, in her own way, as
uncle is in his. Now, if you'd only marry me, Graciella, and go out
there to live, with your uncommonly fine mind, _you'd_ find it--you
couldn't help but find it. It would just come at your call, like my
dog when I whistle to him."

Graciella was touched by the compliment, or by the serious feeling
which underlay it. And that was very funny, about calling the money
and having it come! She had often heard of people whistling for their
money, but had never heard that it came--that was Ben's idea. There
really was a good deal in Ben, and perhaps, after all----

But at that moment there was a sound of wheels, and whatever
Graciella's thought may have been, it was not completed. As Colonel
French lifted the latch of the garden gate and came up the walk toward
them, any glamour of the past, any rosy hope of the future, vanished
in the solid brilliancy of the present moment. Old Ralph was dead, old
Malcolm nearly so; the money had never been found, would never come to
light. There on the doorstep was a young man shabbily attired, without
means or prospects. There at the gate was a fine horse, in a handsome
trap, and coming up the walk an agreeable, well-dressed gentleman of
wealth and position. No dead romance could, in the heart of a girl of
seventeen, hold its own against so vital and brilliant a reality.

"Thank you, Ben," she said, adjusting a stray lock of hair which had
escaped from her radiant crop, "I am not clever enough for that. It is
a dream. Your great-uncle Ralph had ridden too long and too far in the
sun, and imagined the treasure, which has driven your Uncle Malcolm
crazy, and his housekeeper dumb, and has benumbed you so that you sit
around waiting, waiting, when you ought to be working, working! No,
Ben, I like you ever so much, but you will never take me to New York
with your Uncle Ralph's money, nor will you ever earn enough to take
me with your own. You must excuse me now, for here comes my cavalier.
Don't hurry away; Aunt Laura will be out in a minute. You can stay and
work on your model; I'll not be here to interrupt you. Good evening,
Colonel French! Did you bring me a _Herald_? I want to look at the
advertisements."

"Yes, my dear young lady, there is Wednesday's--it is only two days
old. How are you, Mr. Dudley?"

"Tol'able, sir, thank you.