“Of course I do,” she replied quickly.  “She took mother’s place—­as much as any one could—­and, except on our vacations, we have never been separated.”

“You soon will be though, won’t you?”

She looked up at him in surprise, not understanding.

“How?” she demanded.

“Didn’t you tell me that your sister was going to be married?”

Virginia laughed, a low, musical laugh, which charmed him.

“Yes,” she said, “that’s true.  They are to be married next month.”  Sadly she added:  “I shall miss her very much.  Yet I shan’t mind that kind of separation—­if she’s happy.”

Stafford smiled.  Quietly he said: 

“That’s the trouble with matrimony—­that great, big little word—­if.”

“Oh,” she interrupted quickly.  “I feel sure they’ll be happy.  Theirs is a marriage for love.”

Looking closely at her, he asked:  “Do you believe in love?”

“Of course,” she answered, raising her cup to her face to hide her embarrassment.

“What kind of love?” he persisted.

“Real love.”

“What do you call real love?”

She opened her eyes wide, as if greatly astonished.

“Why—­why,” she stammered, “don’t you think there is such a thing as real love?”

“Certainly I do,” he laughed, amused at her ingenuousness.  “But I don’t think it’s what the sentimental schoolgirl feels for the college football player.  As for love at first sight, I consider that simply absurd.  To my way of thinking, love isn’t a spontaneous combustion.  It’s a slow, steady growth and the soil in which it grows best is—­respect.”

“Perhaps you are right,” she said hesitatingly.

“I know that I am,” he replied positively.

There was a short silence, when suddenly Stafford said: 

“Who is this man that your sister is marrying?”

Virginia laid down her cup of tea and burst out laughing.

“Oh, he’s so funny!  I’m sure he would amuse you.  Such an original!  His name is James Gillie.”

He liked to encourage her to speak of herself and her family.  It seemed to bring them closer together.  Pleasantly he asked: 

“What does he do, this Mr. Gillie—­doctor—­lawyer—­business man?”

Amused at his curiosity, Virginia shook her head.  Laughingly she said: 

“Nothing so substantial, I assure you.  He’s only a shipping clerk—­getting about $14 a week—­”

Stafford stared in amazement.  With an incredulous smile, he exclaimed: 

“Only earning $14 a week and he has the impudence to ask your sister to marry him?”

Virginia nodded.

“Oh, but you don’t know Mr. Gillie,” she went on.  “He’s sure he’s worth far more than that, and he has won sister over to the same opinion.  I have some doubts myself, but they are both quite convinced that before long he will be a multi-millionaire.  You see, he has ideas.  He invents things.  He told us about one of his inventions the other day.  It was something that would help the railroads, and make them and him fabulously rich—­”