his hand, and spoke with the kind of solemnity that you expect to come
from the altar. "Then listen to me, Mrs. Fairbanks. You say you would
not receive him or such as him into your house. You invite me often to
your home, and here I constantly meet men who are known in society as
rakes and roues. You know it, and all society women know it, too. If
you cared to take half the trouble you have taken in this case, you
could find out all the facts. You are a woman of society, and you know
well what I say is true. I have seen you in this room place your
daughter in the arms of a man you knew to be a drunkard, and must have
suspected was a libertine. These men have the entree to every good
family in the city, and though their character is known, they are
received everywhere. They have wealth and family connection. Do not
attempt to deny it, Mrs. Fairbanks. I know society, and you know it
well. If you strike off the names of those men whose lives, not have
been in the past, but are to-day unclean and unworthy, you will have to
make a very large blank in your dancing list." Then the little fellow's
voice broke right down. "Forgive me if I have spoken harshly. I beseech
you, hear me. You are doing a great wrong to my friend, a cruel wrong.
I pledge you my name and honour he is a good man, and he is worthy of
your daughter. God has covered his sin: why have you dared to uncover
it?" And then, in the tone that he uses in reading his prayers, he went
on, "In the name of the Saviour of the sinful and lost, I ask you, I
entreat you, receive him."

You would think that would have melted the heart of a she-devil, let
alone a woman, but that woman stood there, cold, white, and unmoved.
"Is that all, Mr. Hooper?" she said. "Then my answer is--never! And as
for you, his eloquent advocate, I never wish to see you again. Come,
Betty."

As they began to move off The Don, who was still on his knees, looked
up and reached out his hands toward the poor girl with a cry that
stabbed my heart through and through. "I want your forgiveness, Betty,
only your forgiveness." She paused, took a step towards him, then
putting her hands over her face she stood still, shuddering. Her mother
caught her and drew her away.

The Don rose slowly. He seemed stupefied. He turned toward Hooper, and
said in a hoarse kind of whisper: "She's gone! Oh, God, I have lost
her!" He felt his way out to the hall like a blind man. Helen put out
her hand to stop him, but he