ad fellow, now, am I?"

"You are a man--and I have no confidence whatever in men," declared
Miss Sally, wiping some very real tears from her eyes with a very
unreal sort of handkerchief--one of the cobwebby affairs of lace her
daintiness demanded.

"Miss Sally, why have you such a rooted distrust of men?" demanded
Willard curiously. "Somehow, it seems so foreign to your character."

"I suppose you think I am a perfect crank," said Miss Sally, sighing.
"Well, I'll tell you why I don't trust men. I have a very good reason
for it. A man broke my heart and embittered my life. I've never spoken
about it to a living soul, but if you want to hear about it, you
shall."

Miss Sally sat down on the second step of the stairs and tucked her
wet handkerchief away. She clasped her slender white hands over her
knee. In spite of her silvery hair and the little lines on her face
she looked girlish and youthful. There was a pink flush on her cheeks,
and her big black eyes sparkled with the anger her memories aroused in
her.

"I was a young girl of twenty when I met him," she said, "and I was
just as foolish as all young girls are--foolish and romantic and
sentimental. He was very handsome and I thought him--but there, I
won't go into that. It vexes me to recall my folly. But I loved
him--yes, I did, with all my heart--with all there was of me to love.
He made me love him. He deliberately set himself to win my love. For a
whole summer he flirted with me. I didn't know he was flirting--I
thought him in earnest. Oh, I was such a little fool--and so happy.
Then--he went away. Went away suddenly without even a word of goodbye.
But he had been summoned home by his father's serious illness, and I
thought he would write--I waited--I hoped. I never heard from
him--never saw him again. He had tired of his plaything and flung it
aside. That is all," concluded Miss Sally passionately. "I never
trusted any man again. When my sister died and gave me her baby, I
determined to bring the dear child up safely, training her to avoid
the danger I had fallen into. Well, I've failed. But perhaps it will
be all right--perhaps there are some men who are true, though Stephen
Merritt was false."

"Stephen--who?" demanded Willard abruptly. Miss Sally coloured.

"I didn't mean to tell you his name," she said, getting up. "It was a
slip of the tongue. Never mind--forget it and him. He was not worthy
of remembrance--and yet I do remember him. I can't forget