Mrs. Carter drew back in her seat, and lifted both hands,
“Herman Ross, does this mean that you want to marry a young wife?”
Ross smiled and shook his head.
“No, sister, I have no thought of marrying any one; but I do think of adopting a girl, and want you to help me.”
“Adopting a girl? Why, Ross, that is just what I have been thinking of myself—a pretty, little, curly-headed child, like one that’s in her grave. Of course, I’ll help you; more than that, I’ll do it for you—she shall be mine and Carter’s heiress.”
“I was thinking of one who shall be my heiress,” said Ross, gently. “I cannot give her millions, but there will be enough for us both.”
“Thinking of one—why, who can it be, Ross? I had no idea of your taking a fancy to any child.”
“Nor have I, this is a young lady.”
“You? You, Ross? A young lady?”
“Yes, I will adopt her; all that I have or may have, shall, in the end, be hers. What I want of you, sister, is motherly protection for the girl. You will not refuse her a home?”