she chooses to do what you and I
think foolish we will not follow her example. You may talk to
me, Madelon, as much as ever you please. I should like to hear
about your father, for I know how often you think of him. Now,
will you go back to the ball-room? I give you leave to dance
now," he added, smiling.

She did not move nor answer, but she looked up at him with a
sudden change in her face, and he saw that she was trembling.

"What is it now, Madelon?" he said.

"You are so good," she said. "When I am unhappy, you always
comfort me--it has always been so----"

"Do I comfort you?" said Graham--"why, that is good news,
Madelon."

"Ah! yes," she cried, in her impulsive way, "you have always
been good to me--how can I forget it? That night when papa
died, and I was so unhappy all alone--and since then, how
often--"

Graham turned away, and walked twice up and down the room.
There was a distant sound of music, and footsteps, and voices,
but people had drifted away into the ball-room again, and they
were alone. He came back to where Madelon was sitting.

"If you think so, indeed, Madelon," he said, "will you not let
it be so always? Do you think you can trust me enough to let
me always take care of you? I can ask for nothing dearer in
life."

"What do you mean?" she cried, glancing up at him startled.

"Do you not understand?" he said, looking at her, and taking
one her little hands in his--"do you not understand that one
may have a secret hidden away for years, and never suspected
even by oneself, perhaps, till all at once one discovers it? I
think I must have had some such secret, Madelon, and that I
never guessed at it till a few months since, when I found a
little girl that I knew years ago, grown up into somebody that
I love better than all the world----"

"Ah! stop!" she cried, jumping up, and pulling her hand away.
"You are good and kind, but it is not possible that you--ah!
Monsieur Horace, I am not worthy!"

"Not worthy! Good heavens, Madelon, you not worthy!" He paused
for a moment. "What is not possible?" he went on. "Perhaps I
am asking too much. I am but a battered old fellow in these
days, I know, and if, indeed, you cannot care enough for me----"

He held out his hand again with a very kind smile. She looked
up at him.

"Monsieur Horace," she said, "I--I do--"

And then she put both hands into his with her old, childish
gesture, and I daresay the little weary spirit thought it had
found