er ball of wool, beginning nervously to
unwind it, and then wind it up again.

"Perhaps she wouldn't see it," he said tentatively.

"Ah, you don't trust her!" Helen cried brightly, "or you would not say
that. (Don't tie my worsted into knots!) When you write to Lois, why
don't you frankly say what you think of him?"

"Oh, I could not," he responded quickly. "Don't you see, Helen, I'm a
young fellow myself, and--and you know Lois did not care for me when
I--told her. And if I said anything now, it would only mean that I was
jealous, that I wanted her myself. Whereas, I give you my word," striking
his fist sharply on his knee, "if he was fit for her, I'd rejoice; yes,
I--I love her so much that if I saw her happy with any other man (who was
worthy of her!) I'd be glad!"

Helen looked doubtful, but did not discuss that; she ran her hand along
her needle, and gave her elastic work a pull. "Tell me more about him,"
she said.

But Gifford had not much to tell; it was only his vague distrust of the
man, which it was difficult to put into words. "A good out-and-out sinner
one can stand," he ended; "but all I saw of this Forsythe at the club and
about town only made me set him down as a small man, a--a puppy, as I
said. And I thought I'd talk to you about it, because, when you write to
Lois, you might just hint, you know."

But Helen shook her head. "No, Gifford, that never does any good at all.
And I do not believe it is needed. The only thing to do now is to trust
Lois. I have no anxiety about her; if he is what you say, her own ideal
will protect her. Ah, Giff, I'm disappointed in you. I shouldn't have
thought you could doubt Lois."

"I don't!" he cried, "only I am so afraid!"

"But you shouldn't be afraid," Helen said, smiling; "a girl like Lois
couldn't love a man who was not good and noble. Perhaps, Gifford," she
ventured, after a moment's pause,--"perhaps it will be all right for you,
some time."

"No, no," he answered, "I don't dare to think of it."

Helen might have given him more courage, but John came in, and Gifford
realized that it was very late. "Helen has scolded me, Mr. Ward," he
said, "and it has done me good."

John turned and looked at her. "Can she scold?" he said. And when Gifford
glanced back, as he went down the street, he saw them still standing in
the doorway in the starlight; Helen leaning back a little against John's
arm, so that she might see his face. The clear warm pallor of her cheek