he said in an oddly sobered voice, "I looked in as I passed
through, and he was looking so crushed, so worn and tired, you know--he
had just come from up-stairs; and yet he faced me so bravely and
smilingly"--she shook her head--"poor fellow!"

I stared--puzzled, don't you know. Offhand, dash me if I could see what
the judge had to do with our evenings together--why, I had his own
approval of my suit. Then I remembered that she, of course, didn't know
that--_yet_. Probably what she had in her dear little mind was that he
might be holding the library--and he _would_, if he continued to think
he was busy; for I had heard him say he expected to work all night. But
then, there were dozens and dozens of others places we could go--well,
I should just _say_!

I had just bent forward to suggest this to her when I saw she was going
to speak. So I waited, smiling at her tenderly.

"And about Arthur--" she began, and I cut myself a painful stab with my
nails--right in the palm--"now there is a case where I think you
find"--she nodded toward the house again--"where you find one of his
superb qualities, the one quality that, of all, I admire in a man the
most."

"By Jove!" I said, leaning forward. I wondered what it was--and then,
dash it, I asked her.

"Just _trust_!" she said simply, and her face grew luminous. "Faith,
perhaps I should say. _My_ father has it larger than any man I ever
knew; it is something that goes out from him with his friendship, with
his love, making a dual gift"--her voice dropped thoughtfully--"I have
studied it in him all my life, and it has always seemed so beautiful to
me--so wonderful--the unquestioning peace he has"--her blue eyes
widened, shining--"has ever in return for the perfect, abiding trust
that he gives to the thing he calls his own. I _know_, for he has made
_me_ feel it from the time I was a tiny little girl!" The last word was
almost a whisper, so tense, so vibrant with feeling was it--she _seemed_
to have forgotten my existence. "And if ever I find a man--" she
breathed.

I coughed slightly and she started, stared at me--and then the dimple
deepened in her cheek, lost in a bed of jolly roses. Her laughter pealed
forth, birdlike--delicious!

"I _beg_ your pardon!" she said. "But when I think of papa and of how he
believes in his children, especially poor little _me_, I think I must
get--" Her roguish, puzzled smile searched my face. "_How_ is it you say
it?--oh, I know--'I think I