nice creature." Roger sat lounging in his chair with his hands in his pockets, his chin on his breast, and a heavy gaze fixed on Hubert. The latter was struck with his deeply preoccupied aspect. "But let us talk of you rather than of Nora," he said. "I have been waiting for a chance to tell you that you look very poorly."
"Nora or I,—it 's all one. She is the only thing in life I care for."
Hubert was startled by the sombre energy of his tone. The old polished, placid Roger was in abeyance. "My dear fellow," he said, "you are altogether wrong. Live for yourself. You may be sure she will do as much. You take it too hard."
"Yes, I take it too hard. It troubles me."
"What 's the matter? Is she a naughty child? Is she more than you bargained for?" Roger sat gazing at him in silence, with the same grave eye. He began to suspect Nora had turned out a losing investment. Has she—a—low tastes?" he went on. "Surely not with that sweet face!"
Roger started to his feet impatiently. "Don't misunderstand me!" he cried. "I have been longing to see some one,—to talk,—to get some advice,—some sympathy. I am fretting myself away."
"Good heavens, man, give her a thousand dollars and send her back to her family. You have educated her."
"Her family! She has no family! She 's the loneliest as well as the sweetest, wisest, best of creatures! If she were only a tenth as good, I should be a happier man. I can't think of parting with her; not for all I possess."
Hubert stared a moment. "Why, you are in love."
