"Surer than sure, my dear little girl I want you only for my adopted daughter."
"And you never saw me before last night?"
"Never," said Carl Walraven, unflinchingly.
"You are a very rich man, you say?"
"Very rich—a millionaire—and you shall be my heiress when I die."
"I am afraid I shall be a very long time out of my inheritance, then. Well, this is a surprise, and you are the oddest gentleman I have met for some time. Please let me catch my breath! You are quite certain you are not playing a practical joke at my expense all this time?"
"No! upon my word and honor, no! I mean precisely what I say."
"And supposing I say yes—supposing I agree to go with you, for the fun of the thing, what do you mean to do with me, Mr. Walraven?"
"To treat you as I would a Miss Walraven of seventeen years old, if there were such a person; to fill your pockets with money, and your wardrobe with fine clothes; to give you a horse to ride, and a piano to play, a carriage to drive in, and a waiting-maid to scold. What more can I do? I will give you masters to teach you everything under the sun. Balls, parties, and the opera at will—everything, in short, your heart can desire."
The starry eyes sparkled, the rose-tinted cheeks flushed with delight.