our mesa he is bound to try to do
it."

"And he would do it," added Mrs. Blake with quiet confidence.

"Then I hope and pray he will find there is no chance, because Daddy
would have to oppose him. That would be such a pity! He and I have
read so much about Mr. Blake's work that we have come to regard him as
our--as one of our heroes."

Mrs. Blake smiled. It was very apparent, despite the quietness and
repression of her high-bred manner, that she was very much in love
with her husband.

The girl continued in a meekly deferential tone: "So you will not mind
my worshiping him. He is a hero, a real hero! Isn't he?"

The words were spoken with an earnestness and sincerity that won Mrs.
Blake to a like candor. "You are quite right," she said. "Lafayette
may have told you how Mr. Blake and I were wrecked on the most savage
coast of Africa. He saved me from wild beasts and tropical storms,
from fever and snakes,--from death in a dozen horrible forms. Then,
when he had saved me--and won me, he gave me up until he could prove
to himself that he was worthy of me."

"He did?" cried the girl. "But of course!--of course!"

"Yet that was nothing to the next proof of his strength and manhood,"
went on the proud wife. "He destroyed a monster more frightful than
any lion or tropical snake--he overcame the curse of drink that had
come down to him from--one of his parents."

"From--from his--" whispered the girl, her averted face white and
drawn with pain.

Mrs. Blake had bent over to kiss the forehead of her sleeping baby and
did not see. "If only all parents knew what terrible misfortunes,
what tortures, their transgressions are apt to bring upon their
innocent children!" she murmured.

"He told me that he won his way up out of the--the slums," said
Isobel. "It must be some men fail to do that because they have
relatives to drag them down--their families."

"It seems hard to say it, yet I do not know but that you are right, my
dear," agreed Mrs. Blake. "Strong men, if unhampered, have a chance to
fight their way up out of the social pit. But women and girls, even
when they escape the--the worst down there, can hardly hope ever to
attain--And of course those that fall!--Our dual code of morality is
hideously unjust to our sex, yet it still is the code under which we
live."

The girl drew in a deep, sighing breath. Her eyes were dark with
anguish. Yet she forced a gay little laugh. "Aren't we solemn
sociologists! All we a