Mr. Ramsay had never conceived of such a philosophical parent or agreeable state of affairs.  He was very much embarrassed, and caught at a familiar idea in his confusion.  “That’s what I thought you would think,—­that I was amusin’ myself.  And I wanted to tell you that I am not, you know.  I have far too much respect for Miss Brown to dream of doin’ such a thing,” he said very eagerly.

“Oh, you mean at her expense?  I understand now.  Well, now, let me make your mind perfectly easy on that score.  Bijou can take care of herself as well as any girl in America, and I never thought of such a thing.  If you are thinking of her, that’s all right.  If you are thinking of yourself, of course that is another thing.  She isn’t thinking of marrying you.  She doesn’t care anything about you in that way, I am certain.  I should have noticed it if she had been,” said Mr. Brown, who labored under the usual parental delusion as to his daughter’s heart having a glass window through which he could see all that went on there.

“I am tryin’ to do what is best for both of us,” said Mr. Ramsay honestly, blushing profusely.  “And I came to say good-by.  And here is a little note I have written Miss Brown.  I have left it open, in case you wished to see it.”

“Not at all,—­not at all.  Bijou would blow me up sky-high if she caught me reading it, I can tell you.  I’ll give it to her, certainly.  I think you are giving yourself unnecessary concern; but your scruples, though novel, do you honor.  If you think it best to give us up, you are, as far as you are personally concerned, the best judge.  Good-by.  Send us a line to say how you like the West.  Good-by,” said Mr. Brown, and smilingly accompanied him to the front door.

Papa Brown gave his daughter the note, which ran as follows: 

“MY DEAR MISS BROWN,—­I am going away, and you have been so awfully kind to me that I know you will excuse me writing to say how awfully grateful I am to your family for receiving a stranger as they have done.”

Here “I shall often think of you” was carefully scratched out, and “I shall always remember it and the pleasant hours I have spent with them” substituted.

“And now I have got to say a disagreeable word, which is good-by.  I hope you will have a fine hot summer and will think of me sometimes when you are spooning tremendously at croquet,—­as you know you do, though it isn’t fair.  With best regards to all the members of your household, I am

“Faithfully yours,

“ARTHUR RAMSAY.

“P.S.—­If I should drop into a good thing you will hear of it.”

Mr. Ramsay had taken four hours to compose something that should not be actionable or compromising, and yet that should convey some idea of the state of his mind and feelings, and had turned out this masterpiece, which Bijou read in bitterness of soul over and over again.