“Yes,” he said, “that’s what I thought of doing.”  But he admired her for advising him; he said to himself that Miss Anderson was the kind of girl his father would admire.  She was good, and she was of the world too; that was what his father meant.  He imagined himself arriving home and saying, “Well father, you know that despatch I sent you, about Lafflin’s wanting money?” and telling him about Miss Anderson.  Then he fancied her acquainted with his sisters and visiting them, and his father more and more fond of her, and perhaps in declining health, and eager to see his son settled in life; and he pictured himself telling her that he had done with love for ever, but if she could accept respect, fidelity, gratitude, he was ready to devote his life to her.  She refused him, but they always remained good friends and comrades; she married another, perhaps Boardman, while Dan was writing out his telegram, and he broke into whispered maledictions on his folly, which attracted the notice of the operator.

One morning when he sent up his name to Miss Anderson, whom he did not find in the hotel parlour, the servant came back with word that Miss Van Hook would like to have him come up to their rooms.  But it was Miss Anderson who met him at the door.

“It seemed rather formal to send you word that Miss Van Hook was indisposed, and Miss Anderson would be unable to walk this morning, and I thought perhaps you’d rather come up and get my regrets in person.  And I wanted you to see our view.”

She led the way to the window for it, but they did not look at it, though they sat down there apparently for the purpose.  Dan put his hat beside his chair, and observed some inattentive civilities in inquiring after Miss Van Hook’s health, and in hearing that it was merely a bad headache, one of a sort in which her niece hated to leave her to serve herself with the wet compresses which Miss Van Hook always bore on her forehead for it.

“One thing:  it’s decided us to be off for Fortress Monroe at last.  We shall go by the boat to-morrow, if my aunt’s better.”

“To-morrow?” said Dan.  “What’s to become of me when you’re gone?”

“Oh, we shall not take the whole population with us,” suggested Miss Anderson.

“I wish you would take me.  I told Mrs. Brinkley I would come while she was there, but I’m afraid I can’t get off.  Lafflin is developing into all sorts of strange propositions.”

“I think you’d better look out for that man,” said Miss Anderson.

“Oh, I do nothing without consulting my father.  But I shall miss you.”

“Thank you,” said the girl gravely.

“I don’t mean in a business capacity only.”

They both laughed, and Dan looked about the room, which he found was a private hotel parlour, softened to a more domestic effect by the signs of its prolonged occupation by two refined women.  On a table stood a leather photograph envelope with three cabinet pictures in it.  Along the top lay a spray of withered forceythia.  Dan’s wandering eyes rested on it.  Miss Anderson went and softly closed the door opening into the next room.