"He's sent for blue-prints of his property outside Boston, and they are busy with plans for landscaping it. Narrow escape that! I didn't let on; but the second day I thought he was a goner. I did."

Mary sighed.

"We might just as well have called it a matrimonial agency in the first place instead of an inn."

Mr. Langham rose reluctantly.

"I have an engagement with Miss Maud," he explained.

The faintest ripple of disappointment flitted across Mary's forehead.

"I've promised to help her with her books," said he. "Some of the journal entries puzzle her; and she has an idea that The Inn ought to have more capital. And we are going into that, too."

"I hope," said Mary, "that you aren't going to lend us money without consulting me."

Chef was in a distant corner, quite out of ear-shot. And Mr. Langham, emboldened by one of the most delicious breakfasts he had ever eaten, shot an arch glance at Miss Darling.

"I wouldn't consult you about lending money," he said; "I wouldn't consult you about giving money. But any time you'll let me consult you about sharing money—"

Panic overtook him, and he turned and fled. But upon Mary's brow was no longer any ripple of disappointment—only the unbroken alabaster of smooth serenity. She reached for the household keys and said to herself:

"Maud is a steady girl—even if the rest of us aren't."

She caught a glimpse of herself in the bottom of a highly polished copper utensil and couldn't help being pleased with what she saw.

On the way to the office Mr. Langham fell in with Arthur. This one, Uncas scolding and chatting upon his shoulder, was starting off for a day's botanizing—or dreaming maybe.

"Arthur—one moment, please," said Langham. "As the head of the family I want to consult you about something."

"Yes?" said Arthur sweetly. "Of course, Uncas, you are too noisy." And he put the offended little beast into his green collecting case.

"I never would have come here," said Mr. Langham, "if it hadn't been for that advertisement."

Arthur frowned slightly.

"You mean—"

"Yes. But I came," said Mr. Langham, "not as a pagan Turk but as a Christian gentleman. I was just about to take passage for Liverpool when I saw your sister Mary looking out at me from The Four Seasons. And so I wrote to ask if I could come here. I have lived well, but I am not disappointed. I am very rich—"

"My dear Sam," said Arthur, "you are the best fellow in the world. What do you want of me?"

"To know that you think I'd try my best to make a girl happy if she'd let me."

"A girl?" smiled Arthur. "Any girl?"

"In all the world," said Mr. Langham, "there is only one girl."

"If I were you," said Arthur, "I'd ask her what she thought about it."

Langham assumed a look of terrible gloom.

"If she didn't think well of it I'd want to cut my throat. I'd rather keep on living in blissful uncertainty, but I wanted you to know—why I am here, and why I want to stay on and on."