"Undine," repeated Mr. Carleton, looking amused, as he took the girl's hand, and regarded her curiously; "that is a rather unusual name, isn't it?"
Undine blushed, and looked embarrassed, and Marjorie hastened to explain.
"It isn't her real name, but she didn't like being called Sally, so we thought we would call her Undine until she remembers what her name is. It's a very interesting story, Uncle Henry, but I won't stop to tell it now, for it's getting late, and I must hurry home as fast as I can, and have Father send a team for you. I wish you could ride my pony; I wouldn't mind walking the five miles a bit."
"That's a nice little girl of Susie's," Mr. Carleton remarked to himself, as the ponies and their riders disappeared in a cloud of dust. "She has her mother's eyes and friendly ways, but—well, perhaps it was just as well I couldn't persuade Julia to stop over at the ranch. I doubt if Marjorie and Elsie would hit it off very well together."
CHAPTER V
UNCLE HENRY'S PROPOSITION
Mr. Carleton received a hearty welcome at the ranch. Mr. and Mrs. Graham were not the sort of people to remember old grievances; Mrs. Graham was honestly glad to see her brother, and they were both quite willing to let bygones be bygones. So the visitor found the meeting with his sister and her husband a much less embarrassing one than he had expected, and the days at the ranch passed so pleasantly that he was easily persuaded to prolong his stay from a day or two to a week, and then to a fortnight. He and his sister had more than one long confidential talk, and although no word of complaint was uttered, Mr. Carleton was clever enough to read between the lines, and it was after one of these talks that he wrote a letter to his wife in New York, for an answer to which he was anxiously waiting.
It was on an afternoon in the second week of his visit that Mr. Carleton sauntered out on to the porch, to find Marjorie alone, and busily engaged in trimming a hat.