chance stranger with the strength of her personality."

He sighed. "It was years ago. Miss Pritchard was a newspaper woman at
the time--the most brilliant reporter, man or woman, in the city, we
thought her, in the little coterie of journalists and artists to which
we both belonged. More than one of us would have given all he had to
win her love. I don't mind saying to you, Miss Marley, that it was
because I could not win it that I have never married. She bestowed it,
however, upon an older man and a more brilliant than any of us. At
that time he was city editor of one of the big dailies; he had invested
a moderate inheritance wisely, and was worth millions when he died.
Miss Pritchard was in her late twenties, and though she was called
plain, possessed rare beauty of expression that is of course the
highest beauty of all; and it was no mere girl's heart that she gave
that man. She loved him with the intensity and maturity of a generous,
noble woman. He returned the love and he appreciated her fineness; and
yet he was unworthy of her. In the course of his business life, at a
certain stage of his career, he did something which, while it wasn't
dishonorable, wasn't strictly honorable. By means of this action,
which no one else of the few who knew it deemed reprehensible, he
gained prestige for his paper as well as for himself; but he lost Julia
Pritchard. Had he yielded in a moment of temptation, though it would
still have hurt her cruelly, I believe she would have overlooked his
fault. But the act was deliberate; and though he regretted it bitterly
and to his dying day, it was only because Miss Pritchard looked at it
as she did. Of the act itself, he never repented."

When Miss Pritchard came in, she noticed at once that Elsie looked very
pale--almost ill. After greeting her old friend warmly, she turned
anxiously to the girl.

"Has it been a hard day, honey?" she asked tenderly.

"Oh, yes, Cousin Julia," Elsie returned mournfully. And Mr. Graham
felt not only that his suspicion had been correct but that his relating
the story had truly had the desired effect.

"I think I'll go now, and--write a letter," the girl faltered.

"Go by all means, dear," Miss Pritchard bade her, "but don't write the
letter to-night unless it's imperative. I have tickets for 'The
Good-Natured Man' for to-morrow night, so if you can put off the
letter, hop right into bed and get a good rest in order to be fresh for
it."