My impulse died a sudden death.  I buried it with a swallow.

“Do you think so?”

“You are all alike.  Let me tell you something; don’t get sick.  If you are, hide it as much as possible.  Men do not like sick women.”

“I’ll end this fading business as soon as possible.  It is late.  Good-night, dad.”

I examined my face as soon as he closed the door.  There was a change.  Not the change from health to disease, but an expression lurking there—­a reflection of some unrevealed secret.

The next morning was passed with Alice and the children.  He was pleased with her prettiness and sprightliness, and his gentle manner and disposition pleased her.  She asked him to let me spend another year in Rosville; but he said that I must return to Surrey, and that he never would allow me to leave home again.

“She will marry.”

“Not early.”

“Never, I believe,” I said.

“It will be as well.”

“Yes,” she replied; “if you leave her a fortune, or teach her some trade, that will give her some importance in the world.”

Her wisdom astonished me.

He was sorry, he said, that Morgeson was not at home.  When he mentioned him I looked out of the window, and saw Ben Somers coming into the yard.  As he entered, Alice gave him a meaning look, which was not lost upon me, and which induced him to observe Ben closely.

“The train is nearly due, Mr. Morgeson; shall I walk to the station with you?”

“Certainly; come, Cassy.”

On the way he touched me, making a sign toward Ben.  I shook my head, which appeared satisfactory.  The rest of the time was consumed in the discussion of the relationship, which ended in an invitation, as I expected, to Surrey.

“The governor is not worried, is he?” asked Ben, on our way back.

“No more than I am.”

“What a pity Morgeson was not at home!”

“Why a pity?”

“I should like to see them together, they are such antipodal men.  Does your father know him well?”

“Does any one know him well?”

“Yes, I know him.  I do not like him.  He is a savage, living by his instincts, with one element of civilization—­he loves Beauty—­beauty like yours.”  He turned pale when he said this, but went on.  “He has never seen a woman like you; who has?  Forgive me, but I watch you both.”

“I have perceived it.”

“I suppose so, and it makes you more willful.”

“You said you were but a boy.”

“Yes, but I have had one or two manly wickednesses.  I have done with them, I hope.”

“So that you have leisure to pry into those of others.”

“You do not forgive me.”

“I like you; but what can I do?”

“Keep up your sophistry to the last.”

CHAPTER XIX.

Alice and I were preparing for the first ball, when Charles came home, having been absent several weeks.  The conservatory was finished, and looked well, jutting from the garden-room, which we used often, since the weather had been cold.  The flowers and plants it was filled with were more fragrant and beautiful than rare.  I never saw him look so genial as when he inspected it with us.  Alice was in good-humor, also, for he had brought her a set of jewels.