ke care of herself, Gracie, and will she? Did you know
that Captain Fort was here yesterday?"

"She told me."

"What is her feeling about him?"

"I don't think she knows. Nollie dreams along, and then suddenly
rushes."

"I wish she were safe from that man."

"But, Dad, why? George likes him and so do I."

A big grey moth was fluttering against the lamp. Pierson got up and
caught it in the curve of his palm. "Poor thing! You're like my Nollie;
so soft, and dreamy, so feckless, so reckless." And going to the
curtains, he thrust his hand through, and released the moth.

"Dad!" said Gratian suddenly, "we can only find out for ourselves,
even if we do singe our wings in doing it. We've been reading James's
'Pragmatism.' George says the only chapter that's important is
missing--the one on ethics, to show that what we do is not wrong till
it's proved wrong by the result. I suppose he was afraid to deliver that
lecture."

Pierson's face wore the smile which always came on it when he had to
deal with George, the smile which said: "Ah, George, that's very clever;
but I know."

"My dear," he said, "that doctrine is the most dangerous in the world. I
am surprised at George."

"I don't think George is in danger, Dad."

"George is a man of wide experience and strong judgment and character;
but think how fatal it would be for Nollie, my poor Nollie, whom a
little gust can blow into the candle."

"All the same," said Gratian stubbornly, "I don't think anyone can be
good or worth anything unless they judge for themselves and take risks."

Pierson went close to her; his face was quivering.

"Don't let us differ on this last night; I must go up to Nollie for a
minute, and then to bed. I shan't see you to-morrow; you mustn't get
up; I can bear parting better like this. And my train goes at eight. God
bless you, Gracie; give George my love. I know, I have always known that
he's a good man, though we do fight so. Good-bye, my darling."

He went out with his cheeks wet from Gratian's tears, and stood in
the porch a minute to recover his composure. The shadow of the house
stretched velvet and blunt over the rock-garden. A night-jar was
spinning; the churring sound affected him oddly. The last English
night-bird he would hear. England! What a night-to say good-bye! 'My
country!' he thought; 'my beautiful country!' The dew was lying thick
and silvery already on the little patch of grass-the last dew, the last
scent of an Engl