t him myself. But what is St. Vincent like?"

"Tall and thin and deadly pale. A kind of French Canadian, I believe.
You see he was so enthusiastic and so sure, and so was papa, but
something went wrong. Oh, I do hope we will not lose our money! To be
ill and wretched and homeless, for no doubt you will marry again,
and----"

Floyd laughs heartily. "You shall not be homeless," he says, "and I
will even promise to keep you in books. There, don't distress
yourself." How often he has to administer comfort!

His lunch is the matter of a few moments, then he hurries up-stairs.
The tower door is open, and there is no one to be seen. He keeps on and
on until he catches a flutter of a white dress. Cecil is running around
the observatory, and his heart beats as he glances at the dazzling
little sprite, with her sparkling eyes and her hair a golden mist about
her face. He could watch forever, but it is a daring pastime.

"Cecil," he calls softly.

"O papa!" She stops and flushes a deeper pink, then suddenly remembers
in the midst of her delight, and there is a tacit reproach in her eyes.

"Have you a kiss for papa?"

She considers gravely, then with a quick bound she is in his arms.

"What are you doing up here, alone?"

"I ran away, a little. I am close up to the birdies, papa, see!"

A flock of swallows were wheeling and circling around. She claps her
hands in glee. "Couldn't you open the windows?"

"Not now. The sun is too warm. And, my darling, I wish you would not
come up here without Jane. You might fall."

"Miss Cecil, are you up there?" calls Jane.

Grandon takes her down in his arms. "Jane," he says in a low tone,
"never let Miss Cecil out of your sight."

"Papa," she begins again, "grandmamma went out in such a pretty
carriage. Can't we go, too?"

"Why, yes, I think so. Stay here until I see whether I can find a
horse."

He goes out to the stables. The coachman and the gardener are enjoying
their afternoon pipes. Everything out here seems on the same lavish
scale. There must be money somewhere, Floyd thinks, or debt, and of
that he has a horror.

The carriage horses are in, and Mr. Eugene's pretty saddle mare,
Beauty. Then Marcia has a pony, and Sultan counts up five. He orders
the carriage without any comment, and actually persuades Gertrude to
accompany them, or takes her against her will.

The sun is slipping westward now. They leave the beaten ways and go out
among farm-houses and orchards, bro