t CAN I do? Of course you could talk to her, but--I don't seem to
quite like that idea."

"My grief and conscience--no, no! That isn't what is needed at all.
It would only serve to make her self-conscious; and that's her one
salvation now--that she isn't self-conscious. You see, it's only the
fault of her environment and training, after all. It isn't her heart
that's wrong."

"Indeed it isn't!"

"It will be different when she is older--when she has seen a little more
of the world outside Hampden Falls. She'll go to school, of course, and
I think she ought to travel a little. Meanwhile, she mustn't live--just
like this, though; certainly not for a time, at least."

"No, no, I'm afraid not," agreed William, perplexedly, rising to his
feet. "But we must think--what can be done." His step was even slower
than usual as he left the room, and his eyes were troubled.

CHAPTER XV

WHAT BERTRAM CALLS "THE LIMIT"

At half past ten o'clock on the evening following Mrs. Stetson's very
plain talk with William, the telephone bell at the Beacon Street house
rang sharply. Pete answered it.

"Well?"--Pete never said "hello."

"Hello. Is that you, Pete?" called Billy's voice agitatedly. "Is Uncle
William there?"

"No, Miss Billy."

"Oh dear! Well, Mr. Cyril, then?"

"He's out, too, Miss Billy. And Mr. Bertram--they're all out."

"Yes, yes, I know HE'S out," almost sobbed Billy. "Dear, dear, what
shall I do! Pete, you'll have to come. There isn't any other way!"

"Yes, Miss; where?" Pete's voice was dubious, but respectful.

"To the Boylston Street subway--on the Common, you know--North-bound
side. I'll wait for you--but HURRY! You see, I'm all alone here."

"Alone! Miss Billy--in the subway at this time of night! But, Miss
Billy, you shouldn't--you can't--you mustn't--" stuttered the old man in
helpless horror.

"Yes, yes, Pete, but never mind; I am here! And I should think if 'twas
such a dreadful thing you would hurry FAST to get here, so I wouldn't be
alone," appealed Billy.

With an inarticulate cry Pete jerked the receiver on to the hook, and
stumbled away from the telephone. Five minutes later he had left the
house and was hurrying through the Common to the Boylston Street subway
station.

Billy, a long cloak thrown over her white dress, was waiting for him.
Her white slippers tapped the platform nervously, and her hair, under
the light scarf of lace, fluffed into little broken curls as if it had
been