"I wish you could," he said. Remorsefully, he remembered the long hours
he had spent with Rose at the piano, happily oblivious of Isabel.

"Are you fond of music?" he asked.

"Yes, indeed! I always sit outside and listen when you and Cousin Rose
play."

"Come in whenever you want to," he responded, warmly.

"Won't I be in the way? Won't I be a bother?"

"I should say not. How could you be?"

"Then," Isabel smiled, "I'll come sometimes, if I may. It's the only
pleasure I have."

"That's too bad. Sometime we'll go into town to the theatre, just you
and I. Would you like to go?"

"I'd love to," she answered, eagerly.

The clock ticked industriously, the fire crackled merrily upon the
hearth, and the wind howled outside. In the quiet room, Allison sat and
studied Isabel, with the firelight shining upon her face and her white
gown. She seemed much younger than her years.

"You're only a child," he said, aloud; "a little, helpless child."