“I ran to the—­Andersons’.  You know Mr. Anderson, that time when I was so frightened by the tramp—­ You know I stayed there to tea, that—­ Mrs. Anderson was very kind,” said Charlotte, in a stammering and incoherent voice.

“Oh,” said Carroll.

Suddenly Charlotte raised her head, and she looked at him quite bravely, with an innocent confidence.  “Papa,” said she, “you needn’t think I am ever going to leave you, not until Amy and the others come back, because I never will.  You never will think so?”

“No, darling,” said Carroll.  His face grew paler.

“But,” continued Charlotte, “when I went to the Andersons’ last night, I rang the bell, and I pounded with the knocker, too, I was so frightened, and Mr. Anderson came right away.  He had been to New York himself, to the theatre, and he had not been home long, and—­”

Carroll waited.

“I am never going to leave you, papa,” said Charlotte, “and I love you just as much.  I love you just as much as I do—­him, only, of course, it is different.  You needn’t think I don’t.  There is nobody like you.  But he—­if you don’t mind, papa, I think I will marry Mr. Anderson sometime, the way Ina did Major Arms.”

Carroll did not speak for a moment.  He continued looking at her with an expression made up of various emotions—­trouble, relief, shame.

“He is a very good man,” said Charlotte, in a half-defensive tone.  “He is the best man I ever saw, except you, papa.”

Carroll bent down and kissed her.  “You are very sure you love him, are you, dear?” he said.

“Why, papa, of course I am!  I never could see how Ina could love Major Arms enough to marry him, but I can see how anybody could be glad to marry Mr. Anderson.”

“Then I am very glad, sweetheart,” Carroll said, with a curious quietness, almost weariness.

“His mother is lovely, too,” said Charlotte.

“That is nice, dear, for I suppose you will live with them.”

“When Amy and the others come back,” said Charlotte.  “I am not ever going to leave you, papa.  You know it, don’t you?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” said Carroll, still with the same curious, weary quiet.

Charlotte looked at him anxiously.  “Does your head ache now, papa?” she asked.

“No, dear.”

“But you don’t feel well.  You are very pale.”

“I feel a little weak, that is all, dear.”

“You will feel better when you have had dinner.  Mrs. Anderson came home with me, she and her maid, and she gave me some lovely thin slices of ham, and there is an oyster-stew, and some tea.  Sit down, papa dear, and we will have dinner right away.”

Carroll made a superhuman effort to eat that dinner, but still the look whose strangeness rather than paleness puzzled Charlotte never left his face.  She kept looking at him.

“You won’t go to New York again to-morrow, will you, papa?” said she.