standpoint; she is as ignorant and as innocent as a baby. She's never
read 'Manon Lescaut'--that came out _en passant_--and, by Jove, you
know, it _does_ seem a beastly shame! A girl like that! A snow-drop!"

Carrington cast a look of unmistakable resentment at my poor Manon.

"Well," I said, lamely--indeed I felt maimed--"how was I to know? And
what am I to do?"

"Why, my dear fellow," and Carrington spoke with some fierceness,
"you've nothing to do with it! _I'm_ to blame! I told you about her.
Said she had the type! Dull, blundering fool that I was not to have seen
the shrieking incongruity! The rigidly upright soul of her! That girl
couldn't tell a lie nor look one; and _Manon_!"

Carrington got up abruptly; evidently his disgust could not be borne in
a quiescent attitude.

"You said at the first that her face was innocent," I suggested, in a
feeble effort to mitigate this self-scorn; "we neither of us misjudged
the girl for a moment, though we overlooked her ignorance."

"Yes, and her ignorance makes all the difference. Another girl--as good,
to all intents and purposes--might know and not object; but this one! I
really believe it would half kill her!"

Carrington gave another savage glance at my unlucky picture, and his
gaze lingered on it as he added:

"If it's kept from her, all's well--as well as a lie can be."

And then, if only for a moment, the Greek gained its triumph over this
startling exhibition of Hebraism.

"It is a masterpiece!" said Carrington, slowly, adding abruptly as he
went, "Good-night!"

But my night was very bad. Whatever Miss Jones might say or think, I
_did_ take life seriously.

CHAPTER II

A few days followed in which Miss Jones showed herself to me in a sweet
and softened mood, the mood that wishes to make amends for salutary
harshness. My meekness under reproof had evidently won her approbation.
In the rests she talked to me. She gave me her opinions upon many
subjects, and very admirable they were and very commonplace. One thing
about Miss Jones, however, was not commonplace. She would certainly
act up to her opinions. Her sense of duty was enormous; but she bore
it pleasantly, albeit seriously. She had a keen _flair_ for
responsibilities. I began to suspect that she had assumed my moral
well-being as one of them.

Her priggishness was so unconscious--so sincere, if one may say so--that
it staggered me. Her calmly complacent truisms confounded any subtleties
b