"But, Phil,—you—you don't know Azalea—"
"I know enough. If you mean her escapades with the picture people or her innocent joke about the patchwork sampler,—I don't care about those little things. She has a wonderful big, noble nature, that will respond quickly to loving care and gentle advice. And,—I think she cares for me, but—"
"Of course she cares for you! What girl wouldn't! Don't underestimate yourself or your attractions, Phil. But I'll speak plainly; you're a big man in lots of ways,—beside physically. You're an aristocrat,—of an old family,—and you're very rich. Now,—Azalea—"
"Please don't talk of my birth or wealth as assets. I offer Azalea a heart full of love, and a constant care for her happiness and well-being. If she does care for me, I want your permission to try to win her. I have broached the subject—"
"What did she say?"
"She—oh, I don't know,—she said—well, she ran away!"
"Surprised and a little shy, probably," Farnsworth looked thoughtful. "I may as well tell you, Phil, oh hang it! How shall I put it? Well, there's something queer about Azalea."
"What do you mean,—queer?"
"I don't know. And it may be nothing. But,—her only near relative, so far as I know, is her father. A man I knew years ago,—a cousin of mine,—and a decent, hard-working, plain man. Now, Zaly has not had a single letter from him since she has been here."
"Why? Where is he?"