d her that it was proposed by a friend, or one of the syndicate,
or something like that; and they are so saturated with the Cornish idea
up there lately, that they filled up the blank out of their own minds.
Another mighty encouraging symptom, isn't it?"

Not more than a day or two after this, and after the news of the
"purchase" of the Trescott estate was being whispered about, my
telephone rang, just before my time for leaving the office, and, on
answering, I found that Antonia was at the other end of the wire.

"Is this Mr. Barslow?" said she. "How do you do? Alice is with us this
afternoon, and she and mamma have given me authority to bring you home
to dinner with us. Do you surrender?"

"Always," said I, "at such a summons."

"Then I'll come for you in ten minutes, if you'll wait for me. It's ever
so good of you."

From her way of finishing the conversation, I knew she was coming to the
office. So I waited in pleasurable anticipation of her coming, thinking
of the perversity of the scheme of things which turned the eyes of both
Jim and Cornish to Josie, while this girl coming to fetch me yearned so
strongly toward one of them that her sorrow--borne lightly and
cheerfully as it was--was an open secret. When she came she made her way
past the clerks in the first room and into my private den. Not until the
door closed behind her, and we were alone, did I see that she was not in
her usual spirits. Then I saw that unmistakable quiver in her lips, so
like a smile, so far from mirth, which my acquaintance with the girl, so
sensitive and free from secretiveness, had made me familiar with.

"I want to know about some things," said she, "that papa hints about in
a blind sort of a way, but doesn't tell clearly. Is it true that Josie
and her mother are poor?"

"That is something which ought not to be known yet," said I, "but it is
true."

"Oh," said she tearfully, "I am so sorry, so sorry!"

"Antonia," said I, as she hastily brushed her eyes, "these tears do your
kind heart credit!"

"Oh, don't, don't talk to me like that!" she exclaimed passionately. "My
kind heart! Why, sometimes I hate her; and I would be glad if she was
out of the world! Don't look like that at me! And don't pretend to be
surprised, or say you don't understand me. I think every one understands
me, and has for a long time. I think everybody on the street says, after
I pass, 'Poor Antonia!' I _must_ talk to somebody! And I'd rather talk
to you be