valry was deep-grained, as it is in men who have
lived among pure and simple women. In everything that wore petticoats he
saw something of his mother, fragile, noble, ambitious for those she
loved and forgetful of self. When Lena began to show him things that he
could not admire, he laid the blame of them, not to her, but to the
world that had played the brute to her. And if he tried to change her it
was with apology in his heart for daring to criticize. But as Lena came
to take for granted the ease and comfort of her new life, she more and
more laid aside the pose with which she had at first edified her lord,
and spoke her real mind. She had fully acquired the manner and the
garments of a lady. She could not see that more was needed.

One gray wintry day, as they walked homeward together from a midday
musicale, they passed a grimy little girl who whimpered as she clutched
her small person.

"What's the matter, girlie?" asked Dick, and as he stopped his wife,
too, halted perforce.

"My pettitoat's comin' down," sobbed the child.

"Is that all?" said Dick. "I wouldn't cry about such a little thing.
I'll soon fix it for you." And he stooped.

"Dick," said Lena imperatively, "there's a carriage coming!"

"Let it come!" said Dick. "Sorry I haven't a safety-pin, girlie, but I
guess this one will do till you get home." That impulsive interest in
all varieties of human nature was so natural to him that he took for
granted that it was a part of our common nature.

He looked up with a smile to see Lena's face crimson with wrath and
shame. Her expression sobered him.

"What's the matter?" he demanded.

"It was Mrs. Lenox who drove by," she urged. "And she looked so
amused."

"I don't wonder. I'm amused myself," he replied gaily.

"A nice thing for a gentleman to be seen doing," Lena went on, with a
voice growing shrill like her mother's. "To play nursemaid to a dirty
little street brat!" She had said things like this to him before, but
always with that little smile and naughty-child air. Now, for the first
time she forgot the smile, and this small omission made an astonishing
difference in the impression.

"I don't know what else a gentleman should do," answered Dick; "or a
lady, either. Mrs. Lenox would have done as much for any baby, her own
or another."

"Much she would!" said Lena sharply. "I've been at her house. She has
rafts of nurses to do all the waiting on her children. I guess she
doesn't let them trou