"Why, Doctor Ralph! Of course I'd rather live with you, but Aunt Hitty would never let me!"
"We're not talking about Aunt Hitty now. Is there anyone in the world whom you like better than you do me?"
"No," said Araminta, softly, her eyes shining. "How could there be?"
"Do you love me, Araminta?"
"Yes," she answered, sweetly, "of course I do! You've been so good to me!"
The tone made the words meaningless. "Child," said Ralph, "you break my heart."
He walked back and forth again, restlessly, and Araminta watched him, vaguely troubled. What in the world had she done?
Meanwhile, he was meditating. He could not bear to have her go back to her prison, even for a little while. Had he found her only to lose her, because she had no soul?
Presently he came back to her and stood by her chair. "Listen, dear," he said, tenderly. "You told me there was no one in the world for whom you cared more than you care for me. You said you loved me, and I love you—God knows I do. If you'll trust me, Araminta, you'll never be sorry, never for one single minute as long as you live. Would you like to live with me in a little house with roses climbing over it, just us two alone?"
"Yes," returned Araminta, dreamily, "and I could keep the little cat."