n remember. In what way do you mean?"

"They evidently have not." He seemed to be given pause by this and need
to gather force from reflection before going on, as he did after a
moment, overcoming his repugnance. "He is the reason for poor Brenda
being packed off to America."

"Oh, is that it?"

"He came to see me last evening and spent most of the night talking of
her. We were barely acquainted before; but he knew I am a close friend
of the Fosses, and in that necessity to ease their hearts with talk
which Italians seem to feel he chose me. I felt sorry for him."

"She's turned him down?"

"No; she loves him."

Again Gerald stopped, as after making a communication of great gravity.
Mrs. Hawthorne, listening with breathless interest, made no sound that
urged him to go on. The fact he had announced seemed solemn to both
alike, with the vision floating between them of Brenda's white-rose face
and deer's eyes, the feeling they had in common that Brenda, for
indefinable reasons, was not like ordinary mortals, and that what she
felt was more significant, more important.

"But he has nothing beside his officer's pay," Gerald went on when the
surprise of his revelation had been allowed time to pass, "and she on
her side has nothing but what her parents might give her, who, you
probably know, have no great abundance. His proposals were made to them,
as is the custom in this country, and have been formally declined."

He left it to her to appreciate the situation created by this, and,
while thinking on his side, ran the point of the slender cane which he
had not abandoned round and round the same figure of the rug-pattern at
their feet.

"They are both too poor. I see," said Mrs. Hawthorne; but added quickly,
as if she had not really seen: "It seems sort of funny, though, doesn't
it, to let that keep them, if they're fond of each other?"

"Oh, it's not that. However fond, they couldn't marry without her
bringing her husband a fixed portion. It is the law in this country, in
the case of officers of the army,--to keep up the dignity of that
impressive body, you understand. In the case of a lieutenant the
_dote_, or dowry, must be forty thousand francs. I learned the
exact sum for the first time last night."

"How much is that? Let me see,"--Mrs. Hawthorne did mental arithmetic,
rather quickly for a woman,--"eight thousand dollars. And the Fosses
can't give it."

"Of their ability to give it if they wished to I am no