ong,--like the men who have
made the world better for their having lived in it--that old De Ruyter,
for instance, that his father is always bragging about--not a weak,
foolish boy whom everybody can turn around their fingers. Some of my
girl friends don't mind what the young men do, or how often they break
their word to them so that they are sure of their love. I do, and I
won't have it, and I have told Harry so over and over again. It's such
a cowardly thing--not to be man enough to stand up and say 'No--I won't
drink with you!' That's why I say I can't think of his doing anything
worse."

St. George fixed his eyes upon her. He had thought he knew the girl's
heart, but this was a revelation to him. Perhaps her sorrow, like that
of her mother, was making a well-rounded woman of her.

"Oh, I can think of a dozen things worse," he rejoined with some
positiveness. "Harry might lie; Harry might be a coward; Harry might
stand by and hear a friend defamed; Harry might be discourteous to a
woman, or allow another man to be--a thing he'd rather die than permit.
None of these things could he be or do. I'd shut my door in his face if
he did any one of them, and so should you. And then he is so penitent
when he has done anything wrong. 'It was my fault--I would rather hang
myself than lose Kate. I haven't slept a wink, Uncle George.' And he was
so handsome when he came in this morning--his big black eyes flashing,
his cheeks like two roses--so straight and strong, and so graceful and
wholesome and lovable. I wouldn't care, if I were you, if he did slip
once in a while--not any more than I would if Spitfire stumbled. And
then again"--here he moved his chair close to her own so he could get
his hand on hers the easier--"if Spitfire does stumble, there is the
bridle to pull her up, but for this she might break her neck. That's
where you come in, Kate. Harry's in your hands--has been since the hour
he loved you. Don't let him go headlong to the devil--and he will if you
turn him loose without a bridle."

"I can't do him any good--he won't mind anything I say. And what
dependence can I place on him after this?" her voice sank to a tone
of helpless tenderness. "It isn't his being drunk altogether; he will
outgrow that, perhaps, as you say you did, and be man enough to say no
next time; but it's because he broke his promise to me. That he will
never outgrow! Oh, it's wicked!--wicked for him to treat me so. I have
never done anything h