the
clear-headed Quakeress was thoughtful again, then she said:

'I don't like this, not in the least; and I feel that thee has been
right. I fear my girl is, in some way, in danger. Will you advise me?'
she asked, with sudden energy.

'To the best of my ability, willingly.' And then I risked a first
repulse. 'If I might ask you to tell me something of your niece--her
position--your plans----'

'Of course. My niece there is an orphan and an heiress.'

'Oh!' She gave me a quick glance and went on.

'Her home has been in New York City, with an aunt, formerly her
guardian. June is now of age and her own mistress. Of late she has
been with me in my little home, less than one hundred miles from this
city. She came of her own accord, and was most welcome, and we came
here together a little more than a week ago, June declaring that she
meant to stay all summer, and I nothing loth.' She stopped and smiled.
'This is all very barren,' she said. 'I think thee will have to
question me.'

'Then I think we must be brief. First, are you stopping near the
grounds?'

'Very near; on Washington Avenue, little more than two blocks away;'
and she mentioned the number.

'Is it a boarding-house, a--pardon me, what I wish to know is if you
have made any acquaintances there; if anyone has learned, for
instance, that you are ladies of independent fortune, meaning to make
a long stay, and consequently likely to have with you more or less
money.'

'Ah! I was sure thee could get on. We are in a private house, found
for us by the Public Comfort Bureau, and we have taken their only
suite; there are no others.'

'And the family?'

Just the two, man and wife, and a servant. It's a cottage, but very
cosy.'

'Has your niece an enemy?'

'An enemy? Oh, I trust not! I do trust not! I can't think so. Still,
June is a society girl; I know little of that side of her life.'

'Then do you know if she has a friend who is, or may be, a
fortune-hunter, one whom you distrust?'

I saw the quick colour flush her sweet face and leave it pale again,
and again for a moment she seemed to hesitate.

'I don't quite like to say it,' she began then; 'but since we have
been here I have seen a person who, I think, would be a suitor for my
niece if she would permit it. I am not versed in the world's ways, but
I have seldom found myself deceived in my judgment of man or woman,
though I ought not to boast it. But of this man I think three things.
He is mad