Had Dr. Everett desired in a few words to show Gracie the gulf between herself and the man who had been the girl's companion for the afternoon, perhaps he could not have formed his sentence better.

She shivered visibly, and the doctor drew the carriage-wraps more carefully about her, while he continued:—

“I would not want to give you a wrong estimate of Hester Mason, nor lead you to imagine for a moment that I believe a girl who serves behind a counter cannot be a true lady. I wanted, rather, to explain to you that her opportunities had been limited. She means to be a good girl, I think: in fact, I may say I have the utmost confidence in her intentions. She is not a Christian, but a few weeks ago I had her name on my note-book as one who was almost persuaded, She has been fighting the question of personal religion for some time,—her special stumbling-block being that she is quick-witted, and has quite a clear idea of how Christians ought to live, and can find very few who seem to her to be living what they profess. However, as I say, I have been very hopeful of her until within a few weeks, when she came in contact with this man, and I tremble for the result. He is constant in his attentions, and she is evidently flattered and dazed.”

“How long has he known her? How did he become acquainted?” Abrupt questions still, asked in that curiously repressed voice.

The doctor's face was growing very grave and stern. He feared that there was a real wound here.

“Inadvertently, Miss Dennis, it seems that both you and I are to blame, or, at least, are involved in the acquaintance. Do you remember a little incident which occurred in a streetcar some six weeks ago? A young woman, in leaving the car, dropped a package, which you noticing, called our attention to, and pointed out the person crossing the street, and Professor Ellis announced his willingness to overtake her and return the package, as he was about to leave the car. Miss Mason was the person in question, and Professor Ellis presumed on that very slight introduction to cultivate an acquaintance. I have learned that he quoted my name in connection with the incident, and since that day has been on terms of exceeding intimacy with Hester.”

Gracie was surprised out of her reserve.

“I remember the incident perfectly: but the girl I saw this afternoon cannot be the one who was on the car.”

“Yes; she was in holiday attire to-day, and in her working garb when you saw her momentarily on the car. I remember a feeling of regret that Professor Ellis should have so promptly volunteered to do your errand: yet I did not know what I dreaded. I simply shrank from the man, and wanted others to do so.”

“Dr. Everett, what is his motive in showing her attention?”

“I wish I knew. I can tell you what I greatly fear: That it is to play with the human heart; to see to what extent he can gain power over it. And in this case certainly it is a most cruel thing. The girl has no friends, no father or mother to advise with or help her. She is bright and pretty, and is being shown glimpses of a world that seems to her like fairyland. She is dazzled, and one cannot blame her, for she has neither carefully-formed judgment nor trustworthy friends to lean upon. Miss Dennis, you can judge from her manner this afternoon what is her knowledge of the customs of polite society. I do not think she has an idea that she was conspicuous, save for her beauty and the fine appearance of her attendant. She is not one to shrink from what she would consider legitimate public admiration, and this you can see but adds to her danger.”

“But, Dr. Everett, you do not think,—you cannot mean that he intends to pay her special attention; that he means anything beyond the desire to give her a little pleasure?”

“Well,” said the doctor, speaking slowly, but with firmness, “you may judge, Miss Dennis, what I think,—what any honorable person thinks,—of a man who bestows in public the sort of attentions which we saw this afternoon, You would have been insulted by them. The only reason that this poor girl was not, is because she does not know any better.

“Did you observe the flashing of a peculiarly set ring on her finger? I have reason to fear that it belongs to him and that she believes herself specially honored in being asked to wear it.”

Poor Gracie's cheeks were flaming now. She had not observed the ring, but she knew it well, and for one brief evening had worn it herself, and then had returned it to the owner with the assurance that she could not bring herself to wear it without her father's consent. She remembered what a wound she had felt herself bestowing when he had looked at her with those expressive, reproachful eyes, and replied that if she felt toward him as he did to her, she would not allow even a father to come between them. And he had actually given that ring into the keeping of this girl!

They rode on in silence, the doctor giving a hint to the horses that they might go as fast as they chose. He was in great doubt and pain of heart. Could it be possible that this carefully-shielded young girl was caught in the toils of a man whom he believed to be an unprincipled villain?

If so, had he been unnecessarily cruel in his revelations? Ought he to take her home, or drive further, and give her time to recover herself?

Could he have understood what was passing in her mind he would have known better what next to say. The simple truth was this: Before she came to Mrs. Roberts' the child had believed herself to be a martyr to the unreasonable prejudices of her stepmother. She had been led to feel that her father had turned against her, solely because of his wife's influence over him, and that the wife was piqued because Professor Ellis had not paid her sufficient attention in the days of her maidenhood. This, the professor had succeeded in teaching Gracie to feel, was the sole charge against him. He was, therefore, an ill-used man, and therefore her heart went out towards him in sympathy.

It had not been at first a stronger feeling than this; but flattered by his attentions, so much more marked and polished than had ever been offered to the young girl before, she had taught herself to believe that, but for her father's bitterness, she could be to Professor Ellis what he delicately and vaguely assured her no one else could, and fill a place that hitherto in his lonely life had been left void. She had not engaged herself to him; indeed, he had never, in actual words, asked her to do so; but to the young and innocent and well-trained there is a language which speaks as clearly as words, and is held as sacred.

Gracie had allowed herself to be looked upon as one who was held by others from being more to Professor Ellis than she was; who might always, perhaps, be held back,—for she had resolved in her own sad heart that she would never marry against her father's consent, no, not if she were twice of age.

Of late, strange reflections had come to her. She had measured Professor Ellis with other men, Christian men, and he had appeared at a disadvantage. Also she had measured herself by the side of other Christian workers, and herself had appeared at a disadvantage. A vague unrest and dissatisfaction with her Christian experience were growing on her. Moreover, she was growing interested in those boys, as she had not believed that it would be possible for her to be interested when she first saw them. She began to believe that some of them, at least, would be saved. She wanted to help save them, and to help others. Her martyrdom dwindled rapidly into insignificance, until there would pass entire days in which she did not once remember that she as an unhappy girl.

At last, but a week or two before this afternoon, she had taken her affairs in hand, and tried to look steadily at them. The result of her hours of thought and prayer was that she was bound to Professor Ellis. That is, provided there should come a time in the dim and distant future when her father should give his consent, it would be her duty and her pleasure, because of what had passed between them, to marry him. Still, she began to feel less amazed at her father's opinion of him, less angry about it. She began to say to herself, softly and pitifully: “Poor, lonely man! he has no one to be his friend. He is not a Christian, and that is what makes so great a difference between him and others. It is that which papa misses, but I must not desert him; I must pray for him all the time, and work for his conversion; then he will grow to be the sort of man whom papa can like, and everything will be right.” And while she said it, she was dimly conscious of a feeling of satisfaction over the thought that she was very young, and that it would be a long, long time yet before anything could be settled; and that, meantime, it certainly was not right for her to have anything to do with Professor Ellis, only to pray for him; and that perhaps her father would allow her to carry out a project that was under delightful discussion in the Roberts family, namely, to remain in the city as a pupil in the famous Green Lawn School. And she did not know, foolish little thing, that so far even as her heart was concerned everything was wrong.

Perhaps it would be difficult for me to explain to you—that is, if you do not understand without explanation—what a turmoil she was thrown into by this afternoon's experience. She was far from realizing as yet that the uppermost feeling even now was not wounded love, but wounded pride; of what poor stuff she had been making a hero! Nothing had ever opened her eyes like this before. Was it possible that she had spent entire evenings with a man who stooped to set in unpleasant, even suspicious light, not his own character only, but that of an ignorant young girl?

It would not do to plead a lack of knowledge in excuse for him; he might be ignorant of the ways of the Christian world, but no one understood better the rules which governed society. During part of the afternoon she had been very angry with the girl, but after listening to Dr. Everett it began to dawn upon her that her friend had been playing with the ignorance of a girl who probably trusted him fully. You are to understand that Gracie Dennis was the sort of girl who would be made very angry by such a suspicion. The glow on her cheeks was not all caused by the fresh air of the spring day.

“Dr. Everett,” she said at last, breaking the silence, “what do you think he means by asking the girl to wear that ring, or by letting her wear it? Does he—do you suppose that he has engaged himself to her?”

“I wish I knew what he meant!” Dr. Everett said again, a surge of indignation rushing over him. “If he really meant anything so honorable as that, it would be bad enough business for poor Hester; but, as I said, I distrust the man utterly; and from my experience with the world I have reason. From your knowledge of him, Miss Dennis, could you suppose him to be honest and earnest in his attentions to that girl?”

It was a very plain question. It meant more to Dr. Everett than even Gracie saw, but she saw enough to know that she was admitting an intimacy that made her blush; however, she answered steadily,—

“No, I cannot think that he is honest or honorable.”

“So I fear. Witness this afternoon. Gentlemen do not parade their friendships before the public gaze, and that man knows it.”

The doctor's voice was very stern. He was sure now that there was a wound, and that it was being probed; he believed in making thorough work, even with wounds; there would be more hope of genuine healing afterward.

Gracie's next question—if her companion had but known it—was a singular one: “Why have not people who are her friends warned her against him, and held her back from making such a false step, if she does it in ignorance?”

Oh, Gracie Dennis! How are warnings sometimes received, even by carefully-trained girls, who have every reason to trust the love that would shield them?

“Some people are very hard to warn,” said the doctor. “I have tried it, and I have a friend who has tried to help her; but the poor girl, you must remember, has not been brought up in a Christian atmosphere—has never had a Christian friend who came with the authority of relationship. If she had a good father the way would be made so plain. As it is, can't you see how naturally she distrusts the rest of us, in favor of the man who makes special professions of friendship? I am not surprised at Hester, I am only sorry for her.”

Had the doctor been carefully informed as to all the circumstances connected with Gracie's intimacy with the professor, he could not have chosen words which would have touched her conscience more. Had not her good father tenderly and patiently warned her? and had she not chosen to blind her eyes to all his words, and believe rather in Professor Ellis than in him?