ed the nine to her own house and I had to show up.
Carter was to have come home but of course he didn't. Small blame to
him. By the way, he has become positively uncivil to me lately. In my
hearing, the other night, he said something about the clergy 'for ever
smothered with women's petticoats, and with their feet under better
men's tables.' I have liked Carter hitherto, and shall have it out with
him when I get the chance.

"You see, Charles, that girl fooled me thoroughly. I thought she liked
me. You thought it yourself; you said so. I thought she meant me to
know she liked. She is so young, so pretty, so rich in everything the
world holds of value. If I had not fancied encouragement I never should
have made the attempt. To come down such a crusher! Perhaps what you
say is right. She may seem to think kindly of me now, she may even have
spoken to your sister of the episode as you say; but let me put myself
in the same place again and the same thing would happen. I'm not
blaming her. God knows I don't blame her. I blame myself for being a
blind ass. I hope she'll be happy, poor little girl. I want her to be.
With all her irresponsibleness and her outside naughtiness and
frivolity, her carelessness of men's feelings, her nonsense, and her
teasing, pretty ways, I know that she is good at heart, sound, and sane
and sweet. I want her to be happy!

"There is a girl among my Fifteen--she is quite young and has to be
protected against herself. She has haunted me. When I got home she
would be lurking in the dark of the road, when I went out I met her
coming round the corner. Notes in her childish scrawl have fallen on
me, thick as autumn leaves. I have had to see her mother at length.
Mother, for my pains, told me roundly I was not a gentleman. I declare
to you she abused me like a pickpocket, Charles.

"But this silly child had the excuse of youth. There is another of
nearly three times her age to whom I had thought it safe to be civil.
Well, it wasn't. She pursued me even within my own strong-hold, the
pulpit. In a moment's weakness I had owned to her that I liked
violets--pah! I am sick of the scent of them now. On Sunday morning I
found a bunch of them, done up after a well-known fashion, with dried
maiden-hair as a background, laid beside the pulpit cushion. I had good
reason to know from whence it came. I said to her when she waylaid me
on my homeward course that the woman who cleaned the church would have
to be repri