"Have you said anything to Virgie about this?" Mr. Abbot asked, looking very grave.
"No, sir; I have not breathed a word of my intentions to her; but I accepted her invitation to tea this evening with the determination to tell you this, if I could make the opportunity, and ask your sanction to my suit before speaking to her."
Mr. Abbot looked gratified.
"That was honorable of you," he said. "It meets my estimate of your character."
"Thank you, sir," Mr. Heath returned, flushing slightly, then continued: "I am not given much to rhapsody or extravagances of language, but I know that I can never be a happy man unless I win Virgie, and if you will give her to me, I promise most solemnly to devote my life to her happiness."
"Is William Heath your true name?" Mr. Abbot questioned, determined to know all about him before committing himself.
"Yes, sir. I hope you do not think I have been masquerading under a false name," returned the young man, a quick flush mantling his cheek.
"Pardon me; but you must remember that I could not account for your being here, and—and I was a little suspicious, I own, that you were not quite what you pretended to be," said the invalid, apologetically, and yet regarding him keenly.
The flush on William Heath's face deepened. He looked very thoughtful for a moment, then said:
"Mr. Abbot, you have read between the lines better than I thought. I would have preferred to remain plain William Heath to every one until after I had won my love; but perhaps I had better be perfectly frank with you. I am not an American."