ina."

"You are certain?"

"Here is the name, Kenneth McVeigh. It is not likely there are two
Kenneth McVeighs in the same region. How small the world is after all!
I used to fancy the width of the ocean was as a barrier between two
worlds, yet it has not prevented these people from crossing, and
coming to our door!"

She sank into a seat, the card still in her hand.

"Judithe," said the dowager, after watching her moody face thoughtfully,
"my child, I should be happier if you banished, so far as possible,
that story from your memory. It will have a tendency to narrow your
views. You will always have a prejudice against a class for the wrong
done by an individual. Put it aside! It is a question outside of your
life, outside of it always unless your sympathies persist in dragging
you into such far-away abuses. We have the Paris poor, if you must
think and do battle for the unfortunate. And as to the American,
consider. He must have been very young, perhaps was influenced by
older heads. He may not have realized--"

The Marquise smiled, but shook her head. "You are eloquent, Maman, but
you do not convince me. He must be very handsome to have won you so
completely in one interview. For me, I do not believe in his ignorance
of the evil nor in his youthful innocence. I think of the women who
for generations have been the victims of such innocence, and I should
like to see your handsome young cadet suffer for his share of it!"

"Tah!" and the dowager put out her hand with a gesture of protest and
a tone of doubt in her voice. "You say so Judithe, but you could not
see any one suffer, not even the criminal. You would come to his
defense with some philosophical reason for the sin--some theory of
pre-natal influence to account for his depravity. Collectively you
condemn them; individually you would pardon every one rather than see
them suffer--I mean, than stand by and actually see the suffering."

"I could not pardon that man," insisted the Marquise; "Ugh! I feel as
if for him I could have the hand of Judithe as well as the name."

"And treat him a-la-Holofernes? My child, sometimes I dislike that
name of Judithe for you; I do not want you to have a shadow of the
character it suggests. I shall regret the name if it carries such dark
influences with it. As for the man--forget him!"

"With all my heart, if he keeps out of my way," agreed the Marquise;
"but if the old Jewish god of battles ever delivers him into my
hand