er. Oh, I know I wouldn't,"
decisively. "But Aunt Jane never liked my father, and I think she didn't
care much for my mother. Their desires and ideas are so different from
mine, and they care very little for education, yet they are all good
and kindly, and Uncle Jason is really fond of me, I think. But it seems
as if when one had neither father or mother to be disappointed, one
might choose what one liked best, if there was nothing wrong in it."

How did the girl come by so much good sense and uprightness?

"Then you will accept my proffer?"

"Oh, I can hardly believe anything so good _can_ come to me. I feel as
if I were dreaming." She looked up uncertain, yet her eyes were dewy
sweet, her lips quivering.

"We will make it better than a dream. But we will have to disappoint
your Mr. Warfield."

That gave Mrs. Van Dorn a secret gratification. She was jealous of two
people who had come into Helen Grant's life, this man and Mrs. Dayton.

"Yes; he will be sorry, I know. But then he could not be my teacher, as
he was last year. And, oh, how proud he will be that I passed so
splendidly."

"And I shall be glad when you attain to other heights. I really think
you will not need any urging. But don't go too deep in the abstruse
subjects, and don't let anyone spoil your fashion of reading, for I may
want you to read to me in the years to come."

"I shall be glad to do anything for you," the girl replied with deep
feeling. "I wish I might spend years and years with you to repay all
this generosity and kindliness. Oh, why do you go away?"

She flushed with an eagerness, a glow of excitement that gave her a
frank, bewitching sweetness.

Why did she go? Mrs. Van Dorn had gone over the ground by herself. She
had been tempted to settle herself for life, but did she want to help
tone down the crudeness of the untrained nature, to prune the
enthusiasms, to find little faults here and there? She would rather
someone else would do the gardening, and she have the bloom in its first
sweetness. While she was away Helen would idealize her still more, and
be prepared to give her just the same girl-worship, but with more
discrimination. She would think of nothing but the benefits. She would
see none of the whims and queernesses that Clara Gage had grown
accustomed to. She would not note her growing old every day. And then
she had a longing for a change.

"Well, I had planned to spend the winter in the south of France. It is
suppose