would make a most desirable husband for her daughter. Of course, it
would rest with the girl herself. Mrs. Porter would not coerce nor
influence her; but why should not Allis come to care for Crane under the
influence of his strong love?

Mrs. Porter's mind had rebounded from its dazed condition after her
husband's accident, and was now acute. All these thoughts came to her
with rapidity, as Crane talked with masterly judgment.

To the mother's suggestion that he speak to Allis he put forward a plea
of delicate consideration for the girl; he would rather deny himself; he
would wait patiently until her mind was in a happier condition. Cleverly
enough he knew that Mrs. Porter was now his ally, and would plead his
cause with less chance of failure than if he startled Allis by the
sudden fronting of life's great problem.

When Crane had gone Allis found her mother calmed by his visit; his
assurances had driven away distressing clouds of financial worry.

Almost immediately Mrs. Porter transmitted to the girl what had come to
her of Crane's declaration.

"It seems almost like an answer to my prayer," she said to Allis; "not,
of course"--she interrupted herself--"that I've been praying for a
husband for you, but this wicked racing has warped the whole woof of
my life; it seemed inevitable in the strength of its contaminating
atmosphere that you would be wedded into it, though one were better dead
than willingly choose a path of sin."

"Then you've settled it, mother!" Allis's big eyes took on a dangerous
look of rebellion.

"No, daughter; you must choose for yourself; only you will be wise not
to go contrary to your parent's wishes. I did--"

"But you are not sorry, mother?" there was reproach in the girl's voice.

"Not for having wedded your father, but because of his racing life. I
should have been firmer, and asked him to give it up before I married
him. He might have done it then. Mr. Crane is a gentleman, Allis. That
is a great deal nowadays, and he loves you most sincerely. Words often
mean very little, but one can tell--at least when they've come to years
of discretion they can--from a man's voice whether he is in earnest or
not. I suppose it is very worldly to speak of his riches, but in poverty
one can do very little, very little good. I had rather that you didn't
have to look with misgiving into the future, Allis; it has taken much
joy out of my existence. The dread of poverty is a nightmare; it wears
on