f or not,--has a
sort of contempt for the little neighborhood notorieties which give
most men pleasure. It is as if he were taking a bird's-eye view of
himself, and every one else, and they all looked so small that the
trifling variations in prominence did not matter."

Winifred looked at her father in silent surprise. She had no idea that
he had made such a study of the younger man. He paused for a moment;
but meeting his daughter's absorbed gaze, he continued: "The thing
which gives me most hope of Flint is his genuine devotion to truth.
Positive or negative truth--it is all the same to him. Now, many a
man is loyal to his convictions; but very few are loyal to their
doubts. He will 'come into port greatly or sail with God the seas.'
Fine line that, isn't it? The sound is quite majestic if you say it
over aloud--'Come into port--'"

"But, Papa," interrupted Winifred a little impatiently, "you were
talking of Mr. Flint."

"To be sure, so we were,--at least I was; but I should like to hear a
little of your opinion of him. A woman's estimate of a man is always
worth having, though not always worth heeding. You see too much in
high lights and deep shadows, not enough by clear daylight; still, I
should like to know how Flint strikes you. I remember at first you
found him absolutely disagreeable."

"Yes, Papa."

"But of late you have seemed to change your mind, or at least to feel
less prejudice against him."

"Yes, Papa."

A silence fell between them after this. At length Winifred rose and
turned down the lights. Then she drew a low stool to the side of her
father's chair, and sitting down by his knee began to rub her hand
gently up and down over the broadcloth.

"Papa," she said after a while, "I haven't been very nice to you; have
I?"

"Nonsense, child,--what put such an idea into your head? As if I had
had any happiness in all these years since--since your mother
died--except through my children!"

"Oh, yes, I know you have found your happiness in taking care of us,
but I have found my happiness in being taken care of; and I have
enjoyed having my own way and doing the things I liked, and now I
would give--oh, so much!--if I had been different."

"What does this mean?" exclaimed Professor Anstice, anxiously fumbling
about Winifred's wrist in the vain effort to find her pulse. "Are you
ill? You have not had a hemorrhage or anything, have you?"

"Don't worry about me, dear! I shall live to plague you for