“I am sure I am not like myself when I am away,” said I. “I seem to want my right hand, when I miss you. Though that’s not saying much; for there’s no head in my right hand, and no heart. Everyone who knows you, consults with you, and is guided by you, Agnes.”

“Everyone who knows me, spoils me, I believe,” she answered, smiling.

“No. It’s because you are like no one else. You are so good, and so sweet-tempered. You have such a gentle nature, and you are always right.”

“You talk,” said Agnes, breaking into a pleasant laugh, as she sat at work, “as if I were the late Miss Larkins.”

“Come! It’s not fair to abuse my confidence,” I answered, reddening at the recollection of my blue enslaver. “But I shall confide in you, just the same, Agnes. I can never grow out of that. Whenever I fall into trouble, or fall in love, I shall always tell you, if you’ll let me⁠—even when I come to fall in love in earnest.”