ave a wriggle as I remembered that Maltese lace
Maria wanted and that I--ugh!

But, luckily, he didn't notice. He had taken my hand and was looking
at me over his spectacles in his dear, fatherly old way.

"Tell me now, my dear, is there anything that an old clergyman can do
for you? I have an engagement near here and we may not meet again. I
can't hope to find you in my carriage many more times. You are
happy--you are living worthily, child? Pardon me, but the stage--"

Oh, the gentle courtesy of his manner! I loved his solicitude.
Father-hungry girls like us, Maggie, know how to value a thing like
that.

"You know," I said slowly, "the thing that keeps a woman straight and a
man faithful is not a matter of bricks and mortar nor ways of thinking
nor habits of living. It's something finer and stronger than these.
It's the magic taboo of her love for him and his for her that makes
them--sacred. With that to guard them--why--"

"Yes, yes," he patted my hand softly. "Still, the old see the dangers
of an environment that a young and impulsive woman like you, my dear,
might be blind to. Your associates--"

"My associates? Oh, you've heard about Beryl Blackburn.
Well--she's--she's just Beryl, you know. She wasn't made to live any
different. Some people steal and some drink and some gamble and some...
Well, Beryl belongs to the last class. She doesn't pretend to be
better than she is. And, just between you and me, Bishop, I've more
respect for a girl of that kind than for Grace Weston, whose husband is
my leading man, you know. Why, she pulls the wool over his eyes and
makes him the laughing-stock of the company. I can't stand her any
more than I can Marie Avon, who's never without two strings--"

All at once I stopped. But wasn't it like me to spoil it all by
bubbling over? I tell you, Maggie, too much truth isn't good for the
Bishop's set;--they don't know how to digest it.

I was afraid that I'd lost him, for he spoke with a stately little
primness as the carriage just then came to a stop; I had been so
interested talking that I hadn't noticed where we were driving.

"Ah, here we are!" he said. "I must ask you to excuse me, Miss--ah,
Mrs.--that is--there's a public meeting of the Society for the
Prevention of Cruelty to Children this afternoon that I must attend.
Good-by, then--"

"Oh, are you bound for the Cruelty, too?" I asked. "Why, so am I.
And--yes--yes--that's the Cruelty!"

The Cru