u are forgetting her friends,' Mary said at length, with eyes of
earnest appeal.

'Her friends? She's better without such friends. There's one thing I
used to hope, but I've given it up. I thought once that she might have
come to a liking for Samuel Barmby, but now I don't think she ever will,
and I believe it's her friends that are to blame for it. One thing I
know, that she'll never meet with any one who will make her so good a
husband as he would. We don't think alike in every way; he's a young
man, and has the new ideas; but I've known him since he was a boy, and
I respect his character. He has a conscience, which is no common thing
now-a-days. He lives a clean, homely life--and you won't find many of
his age who do. Nancy thinks herself a thousand times too good for him;
I only hope he mayn't prove a great deal too good for _her_. But I've
given up that thought. I've never spoken to her about it, and I never
shall; no good comes of forcing a girl's inclination. I only tell you of
it, Mary, because I want you to understand what has been going on.'

They heard a bell ring; that of the front door.

'It'll be Miss. Nancy,' said Mary, rising.

'Go to the door then. If it's Nancy, tell her I want to speak to her,
and come back yourself.'

'Mr. Lord--'

'Do as I tell you--at once!'

All the latent force of Stephen's character now declared itself. He
stood upright, his face stern and dignified. In a few moments, Nancy
entered the room, and Mary followed her at a distance.

'Nancy,' said the father, 'I want to tell you of a change in the house.
You know that Mary has been with us for twenty years. You know that for
a long time we haven't thought of her as a servant, but as a friend, and
one of the best possible. It's time now to show our gratitude. Mary will
continue to help us as before, but henceforth she is one of our family.
She will eat with us and sit with us; and I look to you, my girl, to
make the change an easy and pleasant one for her.'

As soon as she understood the drift of her father's speech, Nancy
experienced a shock, and could not conceal it. But when silence came,
she had commanded herself. An instant's pause; then, with her brightest
smile, she turned to Mary and spoke in a voice of kindness.

'Father is quite right. Your place is with us. I am glad, very glad.'

Mary looked from Mr. Lord to his daughter, tried vainly to speak, and
left the room.

CHAPTER 2

His father's contemptuou