companion and
give a smile or two to the sick boy.

But, as she did so, she stood amazed at the spectacle of Wharton and the
child. Then, moving up to them, she perceived the menagerie--for it had
grown to one--on Wharton's knee.

"You didn't guess I had such tricks," he said, smiling.

"But they are so good--so artistic!" She took up a little galloping
horse he had just fashioned and wondered at it.

"A great-aunt taught me--she was a genius--I follow her at a long
distance. Will you let me go, young man? You may keep all of them."

But the child, with a sudden contraction of the brow, flung a tiny
stick-like arm round his neck, pressing hard, and looking at him. There
was a red spot in each wasted cheek, and his eyes were wide and happy.
Wharton returned the look with one of quiet scrutiny--the scrutiny of
the doctor or the philosopher. On Marcella's quick sense the contrast of
the two heads impressed itself--the delicate youth of Wharton's with its
clustering curls--the sunken contours and the helpless suffering of the
other. Then Wharton kissed the little fellow, put his animals carefully
on to a chair beside him, and set him down.

They walked along the snowy street again, in a different relation to
each other. Marcella had been touched and charmed, and Wharton teased
her no more. As they reached the door of the almshouse where the old
Pattons lived, she said to him: "I think I had rather go in here by
myself, please. I have some things to give them--old Patton has been
very ill this last week--but I know what you think of doles--and I know
too what you think, what you must think, of my father's cottages. It
makes me feel a hypocrite; yet I must do these things; we are different,
you and I--I am sure you will miss your train!"

But there was no antagonism, only painful feeling in her softened look.

Wharton put out his hand.

"Yes, it is time for me to go. You say I make you feel a hypocrite! I
wonder whether you have any idea what you make me feel? Do you imagine I
should dare to say the things I have said except to one of the _elite_?
Would it be worth my while, as a social reformer? Are you not vowed to
great destinies? When one comes across one of the tools of the future,
must one not try to sharpen it, out of one's poor resources, in spite of
manners?"

Marcella, stirred--abashed--fascinated--let him press her hand. Then he
walked rapidly away towards the station, a faint smile twitching at his
lip