nd--well, she had balked
at the second chapter, and he had kissed her and called her his "little
prude." She did not want to be a prude; she hated to seem so, and had
for some time prided herself on emancipation from narrow New England
prejudices. For example, she had not objected to wine at dinner; it had
seemed indeed rather fine, imparting, as it did, an old-fashioned
flavor; but she did not like the whiskey, and Harry at times appeared to
become just a bit too lively--nothing excessive, of course, but his eyes
and the smell and the color were a little too suggestive. And yet he was
so kind and good, and when he came in at evening he bent so gallantly
for his kiss, and laid fresh flowers before her: could anything have
been more thoughtful and knightly?

Just here again she was puzzled; with her folk, hard work and inflexible
duty were of prime importance; they were the rock foundation; and she
somehow had always counted on the courtesies of life as added to them,
making them sweet and beautiful. But in this world, not perhaps so much
with Harry as with others of his set, the depths beneath the gravely
inclined head, the deferential smile and ceremonious action, the light
clever converse, had sounded strangely hollow once or twice when she had
essayed to sound them, and a certain fear to look and see possessed her.

The bell rang, and she was a little startled at the fright that struck
her heart. She did not analyze it. In reality--pride forbade her to
admit it--she feared it was a call of some of Harry's friends: some
languid, assured Southern ladies, perilously gowned, with veiled disdain
for this interloping Northerner and her strong mind. Especially was
there one from New Orleans, tall and dark--

But it was no caller. It was simply some one named Stillings to see Mr.
Cresswell. She went down to see him--he might be a constituent--and
found a smirky brown man, very apologetic.

"You don't know me--does you, Mrs. Cresswell?" said Stillings. He knew
when it was diplomatic to forget his grammar and assume his dialect.

"Why--no."

"You remember I worked for Mr. Harry and served you-all lunch one day."

"Oh, yes--why, yes! I remember now very well."

"Well, I wants to see Mr. Harry very much; could I wait in the back
hall?"

Mary started to have him wait in the front hall, but she thought better
of it and had him shown back. Less than an hour later her husband
entered and she went quickly to him. He looked