like the present."

Down to this moment Polly had done nothing but cry, but now she flamed up
in a passion of pride and resentment.

"It's false!" she cried. "I have no poor and low relations, and I want
nobody's help. My friend is a gentleman--as much a gentleman as anybody
here--and I can tell you his name, if you like. He lives in St. James's
Street, and he is Lord----"

"Stop, girl!" said the canon, in a loud voice. "We can not allow you to
compromise the honour of a gentleman by mentioning his name in his
absence."

John stepped to one of the tables of the governors and took up a pamphlet
which lay there. It was the last annual report of Martha's Vineyard, with
a list of its governors and subscribers.

"The girl is suspended," said the chairman, and reaching for the matron's
book, he signed it and returned it.

"This," said the canon, "appears to be a case for Mrs. Callender's
Maternity Home at Soho, and with the consent of the board I will request
the chaplain to communicate with that lady immediately."

John Storm had heard, but he made no answer; he was turning over the
leaves of the pamphlet.

The canon hemmed and cleared his throat. "Mary Elizabeth Love," he said,
"you have brought a stain upon this honourable and hitherto
irreproachable institution, but I trust and believe that ere long, and
before your misbegotten child is born, you may see cause to be grateful
for our forbearance and our charity. Speaking for myself, I confess it is
an occasion of grief to me, and might well, I think, be a cause of sorrow
to him who has had your spiritual welfare in his keeping" (here he gave a
look toward John), "that you do not seem to realize the position of
infamy in which you stand. We have always been taught to think of a woman
as sweet and true and pure; a being hallowed to our sympathy by the most
sacred associations, and endeared to our love by the tenderest ties, and
it is only right" (the canon's voice was breaking), "it is only right, I
say, that you should be told at once, and in this place--though tardily
and too late--that for the woman who wrongs that ideal, as you have
wronged it, there is but one name known among persons of good credit and
good report--a hard name, a terrible name, a name of contempt and
loathing--the name of _prostitute!_"

Crushing the pamphlet in his hand, John Storm had taken a step toward the
canon, but he was too late. Some one was there before him. It was Glory.
With her