Involuntarily Maggie shrunk back in her chair, wishing her own queenly form had been a very trifle shorter, while Mr. Warner continued, “She has a sweet, angel face, Maggie, with eyes of lustrous blue and curls of golden hair.”

“You must love her very dearly,” said Maggie, the tone of her voice indicating a partial dread of what the answer might be.

“I do indeed love her,” was Mr. Warner’s reply—­“love her better than all the world beside.  And she has made me what I am; but for her I should have been a worthless, dissipated fellow.  It’s my natural disposition; but Rose has saved me, and I almost worship her for it.  She is my good angel—­my darling—­my—­”

Here he paused abruptly, and leaning back upon his pillows rather enjoyed than otherwise the look of disappointment plainly visible on Maggie’s face.  She had fully expected to learn who Rose was; but this knowledge he purposely kept from her.  It did not need a very close observer of human nature to read at a glance the ingenuous Maggie, whose speaking face betrayed all she felt.  She was unused to the world.  He was the first young gentleman whose acquaintance she had ever made, and he knew that she already felt for him a deeper interest than she supposed.  To increase this interest was his object, and this he thought to do by withholding from her, for a time, a knowledge of the relation existing between him and the Rose of whom he had talked so much.  The ruse was successful, for during the remainder of the day thoughts of the golden-haired Rose were running through Maggie’s mind, and it was late that night ere she could compose herself to sleep, so absorbed was she in wondering what Rose was to Henry Warner.  Not that she cared particularly, she tried to persuade herself; but she would very much like to be at ease upon the subject.

To Theo she had communicated the fact that their guest was a partner of Douglas & Co., and this tended greatly to raise the young man in the estimation of a young lady like Theo Miller.  Next to rank and station, money was with her the one thing necessary to make a person “somebody.”  Douglas, she had heard, was an immensely wealthy man; possibly the junior partner was wealthy, too; and if so, the parlor chamber to which she had at first objected was none too good for his aristocratic bones.  She would go herself and see him in the morning.

Accordingly, on the morning of the second day she went with Maggie to the sickroom, speaking to the stranger for the first time; but keeping still at a respectable distance, until she should know something definite concerning him.

“We have met before, it seems,” he said, after the first interchange of civilities was over; “but I did not think our acquaintance would be renewed in this manner.”

No answer from Theo, who, like many others, had taken a dislike to his mouth, and felt puzzled to know whether he intended ridiculing her or not.