and
a decision of manner that had the effect to silence and at the same time
to trouble Mrs. Dinneford, whose mind was continually on the rack.

One day the mother and daughter met in a part of the city where neither
of them dreamed of seeing the other. It was not far from where Mrs. Bray
lived. Mrs. Dinneford had been there on a purgational visit, and had
come away lighter in purse and with a heavier burden of fear and anxiety
on her heart.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I've been to St. John's mission sewing-school," replied Edith. "I have
a class there."

"You have! Why didn't you tell me this before? I don't like such doings.
This is no place for you."

"My place is where I can do good," returned Edith, speaking slowly, but
with great firmness.

"Good! You can do good if you want to without demeaning yourself to work
like this. I don't want you mixed up with these low, vile people, and I
won't have it!" Mrs. Dinneford spoke in a sharp, positive voice.

Edith made no answer, and they walked on together.

"I shall speak to your father about this," said Mrs. Dinneford. "It
isn't reputable. I wouldn't have you seen here for the world."

"I shall walk unhurt; you need not fear," returned Edith.

There was silence between them for some time, Edith not caring to speak,
and her mother in doubt as to what it were best to say.

"How long have you been going to St. John's mission school?" at length
queried Mrs. Dinneford.

"I've been only a few times," replied Edith.

"And have a class of diseased and filthy little wretches, I
suppose--gutter children?"

"They are God's children," said Edith, in a tone of rebuke.

"Oh, don't preach to me!" was angrily replied.

"I only said what was true," remarked Edith.

There was silence again.

"Are you going directly home?" asked Mrs. Dinneford, after they had
walked the distance of several blocks. Edith replied that she was.

"Then you'd better take that car. I shall not be home for an hour yet."

They separated, Edith taking the car. As soon as she was alone Mrs.
Dinneford quickened her steps, like a person who had been held back
from some engagement. A walk of ten minutes brought her to one of
the principal hotels of the city. Passing in, she went up to a
reception-parlor, where she was met by a man who rose from a seat
near the windows and advanced to the middle of the room. He was of low
stature, with quick, rather nervous movements, had dark, r