e all, I am sure." Roseleaf had not spoken. He
had stood a little apart from the others, his mind filled with varying
emotions. It was he who had furnished the money to carry out this plan,
and if it made one hour of Daisy's life happier he would be content.

Within an hour it was evident that a cloud had been lifted from the
entire household. Everybody felt brighter and better. Roseleaf eyed Mr.
Fern with surprise, and had half a mind to go to his office the next day
and tell him how dearly he loved his daughter. It was the first time
anything like a smile had been upon that face since he had known its
lineaments.

Archie Weil devoted his attention, as usual, to Millicent. He did not
talk to her about Hannibal, knowing how distasteful was the subject. He
discussed her novel, of which she never seemed to tire, and asked her
about another, which she had begun to map out. She told him she was sure
she could do better the next time, and spoke of the assistance Mr.
Roseleaf would furnish if needed, quite as if that was a matter already
arranged between her and the young novelist.

Archie wondered if Millicent knew the extent of the attachment that had
grown up between Shirley and her sister. She seemed to feel sure that he
would be at hand when wanted. Could it be that she believed he would
ultimately become her brother-in-law? The negro's guess had almost been
blotted out of his mind. There had been absolutely nothing in his
observation to confirm it.

A day or two after the departure of Hannibal, Mr. Fern had a
conversation with Daisy, in which he dwelt with more stress than she
could account for on a special theme. He was talking of Walter Boggs and
Archie Weil, and he cautioned her earnestly to treat both gentlemen with
the greatest consideration. The girl detected something strange in his
voice, and she stole apprehensive glances at him, hoping to read the
cause in his eyes.

"Why, papa, I never see Mr. Boggs," she said. "It is weeks and weeks
since he came here. As for Mr. Weil, we all treat him nicely, I am sure,
and are glad to have him come."

"Yes," he admitted. "You use him quite right, my child. I am not
complaining; only, if you could show him _particular_ attention,
something more than the ordinary--" He paused, trying to finish what he
wished to say. "There may be a time when he will be of great value to
me--and--I want him to feel--you observe things so cleverly--do you
think Millicent cares for him?"