in, and echoed her words----

"A thoroughly manly man!"

"And perhaps," she continued--"it would be pleasant for you, David, to
have a chat with him now and then especially in the long winter
evenings--wouldn't it?"

She had moved to his side, and now stood looking down upon him with such
a wistful sweetness of expression, that he was content to merely watch
her, without answering her question.

"Because those long winter evenings are sometimes very dull, you know!"
she went on--"And I'm afraid I'm not very good company when I'm at work
mending the lace--I have to take all my stitches so carefully that I
dare not talk much lest I make a false knot."

He smiled.

"_You_ make a false knot!" he said--"You couldn't do it, if you tried!
You'll never make a false knot--never!"--and his voice sank to an almost
inaudible murmur--"Neither in your lace nor in your life!"

She looked at him a little anxiously.

"Are you tired, David?"

"No, my dear! Not tired--only thinking!"

"Well, you mustn't think too much,"--she said--"Thinking is weary work,
sometimes!"

He raised his eyes and looked at her steadily.

"Mr. Reay was very frank and open in telling us all about himself,
wasn't he, Mary?"

"Oh yes!" and she laughed--"But I think he is one of those men who
couldn't possibly be anything else but frank and open."

"Oh, you do?"

"Yes."

"Don't you sometimes wonder,"--went on Helmsley slowly, keeping his gaze
fixed on the fire--"why _I_ haven't told you all about myself?"

She met his eyes with a candid smile.

"No--I haven't thought about it!" she said.

"Why haven't you thought about it?" he persisted.

She laughed outright.

"Simply because I haven't! That's all!"

"Mary,"--he said, seriously--"You know I was not your 'father's friend'!
You know I never saw your father!"

The smile still lingered in her eyes.

"Yes--I know that!"

"And yet you never ask me to give an account of myself!"

She thought he was worrying his mind needlessly, and bending over him
took his hand in hers.

"No, David, I never ask impertinent questions!" she said--"I don't want
to know anything more about you than you choose to tell. You seem to me
like my dear father--not quite so strong as he was, perhaps--but I have
taken care of you for so many weeks, that I almost feel as if you
belonged to me! And I want to take care of you still, because I know you
_must_ be taken care of. And I'm so well accustomed to you now tha