st go home. My daughter Grace writes
me--she should have done it before--that the boys are not behaving
as well as they should--she didn't tell me, as I was having such a
good time she just hated to worry me--Heaven knows I've had enough
worry--but now I must go--I just couldn't stay--boys are an awful
responsibility--girls ain't a circumstance to them, although mine are
a handful sometimes."

Orth had written about too many women to interrupt the flow. He let her
talk until she paused to recuperate her forces. Then he said quietly:

"I am sorry this has come so suddenly, for it forces me to broach a
subject at once which I would rather have postponed until the idea had
taken possession of you by degrees--"

"I know what it is you want to say, sir," she broke in, "and I've
reproached myself that I haven't warned you before, but I didn't like to
be the one to speak first. You want Blanche--of course, I couldn't help
seeing that; but I can't let her go, sir, indeed, I can't."

"Yes," he said, firmly, "I want to adopt Blanche, and I hardly think you
can refuse, for you must know how greatly it will be to her advantage.
She is a wonderful child; you have never been blind to that; she should
have every opportunity, not only of money, but of association. If I
adopt her legally, I shall, of course, make her my heir, and--there is
no reason why she should not grow up as great a lady as any in England."

The poor woman turned white, and burst into tears. "I've sat up nights
and nights, struggling," she said, when she could speak. "That, and
missing her. I couldn't stand in her light, and I let her stay. I know
I oughtn't to, now--I mean, stand in her light--but, sir, she is dearer
than all the others put together."

"Then live here in England--at least, for some years longer. I will
gladly relieve your children of your support, and you can see Blanche as
often as you choose."

"I can't do that, sir. After all, she is only one, and there are six
others. I can't desert them. They all need me, if only to keep them
together--three girls unmarried and out in the world, and three boys
just a little inclined to be wild. There is another point, sir--I don't
exactly know how to say it."

"Well?" asked Orth, kindly. This American woman thought him the ideal
gentleman, although the mistress of the estate on which she visited
called him a boor and a snob.

"It is--well--you must know--you can imagine--that her brothers and
sister