nkling, and her broad, unlined brow was
calmly serene. Her iron-grey hair was as carefully dressed as though she
were still in the twenties, moreover it was utterly untouched by any of
the shams so beloved of the modern woman of advancing years.

"The death of his poor wife almost seems to have unhinged him," she
said, with a troubled pucker of her brows. "But--but I don't wonder, I
really don't. She was the sweetest girl. Poor soul. And that bonny wee
boy. But there, I can't bear to think of it all. You mustn't blame him
too much, Charles. I guess you don't in your heart. It's just as his
attorney you feel mad about things. It's best to remember you were his
friend first, and only his adviser, and man of business, after. The
whole thing makes me feel I want to cry. And that poor girl coming to
see you to-day. The other Nancy, I mean. I don't think I'd feel so bad
about things if it wasn't for her. You know, I like Leslie. And I was as
fond of his wife as I just could be, for all she made a fool of herself
when she married that hateful James McDonald, who was no better than a
revolutionary. Thank goodness he died and got out before he could do any
harm. But I do think Leslie and poor Nancy were selfish about her
child. I don't believe it was so much him as Nancy. From the moment
Leslie came on the scene it was she who kept the poor child at college.
She never even let him see her. And she's such a bonny girl, too. Do you
know, I believe Nancy's death, and even the death of the baby boy,
wouldn't have meant half so much to Leslie if he'd had Nancy's own girl
with him. She'd have got herself right into his heart with her bonny
ways, and her hazel eyes that look like great, big smiling flowers. Then
her hair. She's a lovely, lovely child. I wish she was mine. I'd like to
have her right here always. Couldn't you fix it that way?"

The man shook his head.

"I'd like to--but--"

"But what?"

"You see there's a whole lot to think about," the lawyer went on
seriously. "Why, I don't even know how to get through my interview with
her to-day without lying to her like a politician. Now just get a look
at the position. Here's a girl, a beautiful, high-spirited girl of
sixteen, straight out from college, at the beginning of life, with her,
head full of 'whys,' and 'wherefores.' Sixteen's well-nigh grown up
these days, mind you. Her mother's dead, and curiously the fact didn't
seem to break her up as you'd have expected it to. Wh