rried to him. Later, she discovered she was not--and then it was
too late."

"It wouldn't have been too late with some--er--good people," The Laird
remarked meaningly.

"In other words," Donald went on, "Nan Brent found herself out on
the end of a limb, and then the world proceeded to saw off the limb.
It is true that she is the mother of an illegitimate child, but
if that child was not--at least in so far as its mother _is_
concerned--conceived in sin, I say it isn't illegitimate, and that
its mother is not a bad woman."

"Granted--if it's true; but how do you know it to be true?" Jane
demanded. She had a feeling that she was about to get the better of
her brother in this argument.

"I do not _know_ it to be true, Jane."

"_Voila!"_

"But--I believe it to be true, Jane."

"Why?"

"Because Nan told her father it was true, and old Caleb told me when I
was at his house this morning. So I believe it. And I knew Nan Brent
when she was a young girl, and she was sweet and lovely and virtuous.
I talked with her this morning, and found no reason to change my
previous estimate of her. I could only feel for her a profound pity."

"'Pity is akin to love,'" Elizabeth quoted gaily. "Mother, keep an eye
on your little son. He'll be going in for settlement-work in Port
Agnew first thing we know."

"Hush, Elizabeth!" her mother cried sharply. She was highly
scandalized at such levity. The Laird salted and peppered his food and
said nothing. "Your attitude is very manly and sweet, dear," Mrs.
McKaye continued, turning to her son, for her woman's intuition warned
her that, if the discussion waxed warmer, The Laird would take a hand
in it, and her side would go down to inglorious defeat, their
arguments flattened by the weight of Scriptural quotations. She had a
feeling that old Hector was preparing to remind them of Mary Magdalen
and the scene in the temple. "I would much rather hear you speak a
good word for that unfortunate girl than have you condemn her."

"A moment ago," her son reminded her, with some asperity, for he was
sorely provoked, "you were demanding the right of free speech for
Jane, in order that she might condemn her. Mother, I fear me you're
not quite consistent."

"We will not discuss it further, dearie. It is not a matter of such
importance that we should differ to the point of becoming acrimonious.
Besides, it's a queer topic for dinner-table conversation."

"So say we all of us," Elizabeth struck in