"that I have succeeded in convincing you that I have made your family
already well known to my people, and that"--he fixed his eyes with a
meaning look on Louise--"no matter when, or in what way, you come to
them, your place is made ready for you. You may not like them, you know:
the governor is getting to be an old man--perhaps too old for young
Americans--but THEY will like YOU, and you must put up with that. My
mother and sisters know Miss Macy as well as I do, and will make her one
of the family."

The conscientious earnestness with which these apparent
conventionalities were uttered, and some occult quality of quiet
conviction in the young man's manner, brought a pleasant sparkle to the
eyes of Mrs. Bradley and Louise.

"But," said Mrs. Bradley, gayly, "our going to England is quite beyond
our present wildest dreams; nothing but a windfall, an unexpected
rise in timber, or even the tabooed hotel speculation, could make it
possible."

"But I shall take the liberty of trying to present it to Mr. Bradley
tonight in some practical way that may convince even his critical
judgment," said Mainwaring, still seriously. "It will be," he added more
lightly, "the famous testimonial of my cure which I promised you."

"And you will find Mr. Bradley so sceptical that you will be obliged to
defer your going," said Mrs. Bradley, triumphantly. "Come, Louise, we
must not forget that we have still Mr. Mainwaring's present comfort to
look after; that Minty has basely deserted us, and that we ourselves
must see that the last days of our guest beneath our roof are not
remembered for their privation."

She led Louise away with a half-mischievous suggestion of maternal
propriety, and left Mainwaring once more alone on the veranda.

He had done it! Certainly she must have understood his meaning, and
there was nothing left for him to do but to acquaint Bradley with his
intentions to-night, and press her for a final answer in the morning.
There would be no indelicacy then in asking her for an interview more
free from interruption than this public veranda. Without conceit, he
did not doubt what the answer would be. His indecision, his sudden
resolution to leave her, had been all based upon the uncertainty of HIS
own feelings, the propriety of HIS declaration, the possibility of some
previous experience of hers that might compromise HIM. Convinced by
her unembarrassed manner of her innocence, or rather satisfied of her
indifference to Ri