of cups. "I really haven't the heart to reprove her."

"Then I think I shall," said Stoddard with sudden resolution. "If you
don't mind, Miss Sessions, would you let her come in and talk to me a
little while, as soon as she has finished passing the coffee? I--really
it seems to me that this is outrageous. Johnnie is a girl of brains and
abilities, and we who have her true welfare at heart should see that she
doesn't--in her youth and ignorance--fall into such errors as this."

"Oh, if you like, I'll talk to her myself," said Miss Lydia smoothly.
The conversation was not so different from others that she and Stoddard
had held concerning this girl's deserts and welfare. She added, after an
instant's pause, speaking quickly, with heightened colour, and a little
nervous catch in her voice, "I'll do my best. I--I don't want to speak
harshly of John, but I must in truth say that she's the one among my
Uplift Club girls that has been least satisfactory to me."

"In what way?" inquired Stoddard in an even, quiet tone.

"Well, I should be a little puzzled to put it into words," Miss Sessions
answered him with a deprecating smile; "and yet it's there--the feeling
that John Consadine is--I hate to say it--ungrateful."

"Ungrateful," repeated her companion, his eyes steadily on Miss
Sessions's face. "To leave Johnnie Consadine out of the matter entirely,
what else do you expect from any of your protegees? What else can any
one expect who goes into what the modern world calls charitable work?"

Miss Sessions studied his face in some bewilderment. Was he arraigning
her, or sympathizing with her? He said no more. He left upon her the
onus of further speech. She must try for the right note.

"I know it," she fumbled desperately. "And isn't it disappointing? You
do everything you possibly can for people and they seem to dislike
you for it."

"They don't merely seem to," said Stoddard, almost brusquely, "they do
dislike and despise you, and that most heartily. It is as certain a
result as that two and two make four. You have pauperized and degraded
them, and they hate you for it."

Lydia Sessions shrank back on the seat, and stared at him, her hand
before her open mouth.

"Why, Mr. Stoddard!" she ejaculated finally. "I thought you were fully
in sympathy with my Uplift work. You--you certainly let me think so. If
you despised it, as you now say, why did you help me and--and all that?"

Stoddard shook his head.

"No," he demur