truck him so that he burst out
into a roar of laughter.

Mary Ann paused, flushed, and bit her lip. The touch of resentment he
had never noted before gave her a novel charm, spicing her simplicity.

He came over to her and took her half-bare hands. No, they were not so
terrible, after all. Perhaps she had awakened to her iniquities, and
had been trying to wash them white. His last hesitation as to her
worthiness to live with him vanished.

"Mary Ann," he said, "I'm going to leave these rooms."

The flush deepened, but the anger faded. She was a child again--her
big eyes full of tears. He felt her hands tremble in his.

"Mary Ann," he went on, "how would you like me to take you with me?"

"Do you mean it, sir?" she asked eagerly.

"Yes, dear." It was the first time he had used the word. The blood
throbbed madly in her ears. "If you will come with me--and be my
little housekeeper--we will go away to some nice spot, and be quite
alone together--in the country if you like, amid the foxglove and the
meadowsweet, or by the green waters, where you shall stand in the
sunset and dream; and I will teach you music and the piano"--her eyes
dilated--"and you shall not do any of this wretched nasty work any
more. What do you say?"

"Sw--eet, sw--eet," said the canary in thrilling jubilation.

Her happiness was choking her--she could not speak.

"And we will take the canary, too--unless I say good-bye to you as
well."

"Oh no, you mustn't leave us here!"

"And then," he said slowly, "it will not be good-bye--nor good-night.
Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes," she breathed, and her face shone.

"But think, think, Mary Ann," he said, a sudden pang of compunction
shooting through his breast. He released her hands. "_Do_ you
understand?"

"I understand--I shall be with you, always."

He replied uneasily: "I shall look after you--always."

"Yes, yes," she breathed. Her bosom heaved. "Always."

Then his very first impression of her as "a sort of white Topsy"
recurred to him suddenly and flashed into speech.

"Mary Ann, I don't believe you know how you came into the world. I
dare say you 'specs you growed.'"

"No, sir," said Mary Ann gravely; "God made me."

That shook him strangely for a moment. But the canary sang on:

"Sw-eet. Sw-w-w-w-w-eet."

III

And so it was settled. He wrote the long-delayed answer to the popular
composer, found him still willing to give out his orchestration, and