"I think it is very good to belong to _your_ kind, where-ever they
are, Miss Sylvie. Tell your mother I say she may be glad of her
daughter. I'll find out about the house for you, at any rate. And
I'll see Mr. Cardwell; and I'll call again. Good-night, my dear. God
bless you!"

And the grand Mr. Howland Sherrett pressed Sylvie Argenter's hand in
both of his, as a father might have pressed it, and went out with
the feeling of a warm rush from his heart toward his eyes.

"That's a girl like a--whatever there is that means the noblest
sort of woman, and I'm not sure it _is_ a queen!" he said to Rodney,
as he seated himself in the chaise, and took the reins from his
son's hands.

Mr. Sherrett was apt to say to Rodney, "You may drive me to this or
that place," but he was very apt, also, to do the driving himself,
after all; especially if he was somewhat preoccupied, and forgot, as
he did now.

The way Mr. Howland Sherrett inquired about the red-roofed house,
was this:

He went down to Mr. John Horner's store, in Opal Street, and asked
him what was the rent of it.

"Six hundred and fifty dollars."

"Rather high, isn't it, for the situation?"