ther limply on the stone bench on the terrace,
but she roused herself.

"He is hard and I think will understand what his help is worth. He
knows there is nobody else. Besides, if we accept this favor, we
cannot refuse--"

"Oh," said Grace, "it's unbearable! I never liked Alan; I feel I hate him
now." She paused and gave Mrs. Osborn an appealing glance. "But you
cannot think I ought to agree, mother? There must be another way!"

Mrs. Osborn shook her head. "I cannot see another way, and many girls in
our class have married men they did not like, though I had hoped for a
better lot for you. With us, women do not count; the interests of the
family come first."

"That means the men's interests," Grace broke out. "Father has been
reckless all his life and now Gerald has dragged our name in the mud. He
is to be saved from the consequences and I must pay!"

"It is unjust," Mrs. Osborn agreed. "So far as that goes, there is no
more to be said. But when one thinks of the disgrace--Gerald hiding in
America, or perhaps in prison!"

Her voice broke. She was silent for a few moments and then resumed: "Your
father's is the conventional point of view that I was taught to accept
but which I begin to doubt. I must choose between my daughter and my son;
the son who carries on the house. If Gerald escapes, his punishment falls
on you. The choice is almost too hard for flesh and blood."

"I know," said Grace, with quick sympathy. "It is horrible!"

"Well," said Mrs. Osborn, "the line I ought to take is plain--Tarnside
will be Gerald's; our honor must be saved. But I do not know. If you
shrink from Alan--"

"If he insists, I shall hate him always. Yet, it looks as if there
was no use in rebelling. I feel as if I had been caught in a snare
that tightens when I try to break loose. I understand why a rabbit
screams and struggles until it chokes when it feels the wire. It's
like that with me."

Mrs. Osborn bent her head. "My dear! My dear!" Then she looked up
irresolutely with tears in her eyes. "I cannot see my duty as I thought.
The convention is that my son should come first, but you are nearer to me
than Gerald has been for long. I feel numb and dull; I cannot think.
Perhaps to-morrow I may see--"

Grace got up and kissed her. "Then, we will wait. If no help comes, I
suppose I must submit."

She went away with a languid step and Mrs. Osborn, sinking back in a
corner of the bench, looked across the lawn with vacant eyes. In a