A sense of well-being and happiness began to envelop Richard Carter for the first time in many years.  He was conscious of a desire to express his appreciation to Miss Field.  It was natural that this should take the form of money; a little present, in the form of a check.  She had a sister who was not rich; she would like to go home with laden hands.  But the question was, how much?

He was musing over this very point and other matters of deeper moment one morning when Harriet herself came in.  She returned his smile with her usual bright nod, but he thought she looked pale and troubled.

“Mr. Carter,” she said, bravely going to the point, “do you think Nina is able, with your mother’s help, to manage your house?”

Richard looked at her silently for perhaps two minutes.  Then he said, quietly: 

“Mr. Blondin, eh?”

The girl looked bewildered.

“My mother has given me a hint, indeed I’ve seen, that he would want to take you away from us!” Richard said.

Harriet, without any show of emotion, looked down, and was silent in her turn.  But it was not, he saw with surprise, the silence of confusion.  On the contrary, she seemed simply a little thoughtful and puzzled.

“Mr. Carter,” she said, presently, “I have reason to believe that Mr. Blondin would be a very bad husband for Nina.  I had no scruple in—­in diverting his thoughts.  But if he was the only man in the world”—­and to his surprise, she slowly got to her feet, and spoke as if to herself, her eyes fixed far away—­“I would sooner kill him than marry him!” she said.

Richard sat genuinely dumfounded.  Her beauty, her assurance, and the cleverness with which she had managed that Blondin’s allegiance should be temporarily shifted from his own daughter, held him mute.  It was with the charm of watching perfect acting that he followed this extremely amusing and unexpected woman.

“I confess that I am glad to hear it!” he said, drily.

“Nina is very angry at me,” Harriet said.  “Well, I have to stand that!”

And she gave Nina’s father a whimsical and friendly look.

“But what then?” Richard asked.  Harriet immediately became serious again.

“But this,” she said, “you know your mother is right.  You’re all too kind to me; I am really a member of the family.  I love it.  I love to dress for dinner, and order the car, and charge things to your accounts!  But—­it’s not possible.  You see that?”

Richard was quietly looking down.  Now he made several parallel lines with a pencil before he looked up.

“No.  I don’t see that!”

“Mary—­Mrs. Putnam, for instance, who is very fond of me, and Mrs. Jay.  They want to ask me to dinner—­to Christmas parties—­and they’re not quite comfortable about it.  I am not a member of your family even though you are kind enough to treat me as one.  I am a paid employee, and Madame Carter naturally resents their treating me as anything else.  But most of all,” said Harriet, seeing that she was not making headway, “it’s myself.  Nina, and your mother, and Mrs. Tabor—­it’s just a hint here and there—­nothing at all!  But it undermines my position—­even with Bottomley.  I dress, I entertain your friends, I join you in town; it makes talk.  And I can’t—­I can’t—­”