e their place in the eternal scheme of
femininity, but he doubted it.

"She is a Ballard even in that," he said, formally; "it is Constance
whose disposition is beyond criticism, not mine."

"And now that you've carried off Constance, you're going to take
Barry," Delilah reproached him.

Leila dropped the baby's hand.

"Yes," Gordon discussed the subject with evident reluctance, "he's
going over with me, to learn the business--he may never have a better
opportunity."

The light went out of Barry's eyes. He left the little group, wandered
to the window, and stood looking out.

"Mary will go next," Delilah prophesied. "With Constance and Barry on
the other side, she won't be able to keep away."

Mary shook her head. "What would Aunt Isabelle and Susan Jenks and
Pittiwitz do without me?"

"What would I do without you?" Porter demanded, boldly. "Don't put
such ideas in her head, Delilah; she's remote enough as it is."

But Mary was not listening. Barry had slipped from the room, and
presently she followed him. Leila had seen him go, and had looked
after him longingly, but of late she had seemed timid in her public
demonstrations; it was as if she felt when she was under the eye of
others that by some sign or look she might betray her secret.

Mary found Barry down-stairs in the little office, his head in his
hands.

"Dear boy," she said, and touched his bright hair with hesitating
fingers.

He reached up and caught her hand.

"Mary," he said, brokenly, "what's the use? I began wrong--and I guess
I'll go on wrong to the end."

And now she spoke with earnestness, both hands on his shoulders.

"Oh, Barry, boy--if you fight, fight with all your weapons. And don't
let the wrong thoughts go on molding you into the wrong thing. If you
think you are going to fail, you'll fail. But if you think of yourself
as conquering, triumphant--if you think of yourself as coming back to
Leila, victorious, why you'll come that way; you'll come strong and
radiant, a man among men, Barry."

It was this convincing optimism of Mary Ballard's which brought to
weaker natures a sense of actual achievement. To hear Mary say, "You
can do it," was to believe in one's own powers. For the first time in
his life Barry felt it. Hitherto, Mary had seemed rather worrying when
it came to rules of conduct--rather unreasonable in her demands upon
him. But now he was caught up on the wings of her belief in him.

"Do you think I