t of the
rare china and beautiful old silver. She supposed every thing had gone
down in the whirlpool of ruin, and that humiliation would be complete in
delft and plated ware. Then she ventured to glance around.

Fred chatted gayly, making talk. It had not used to be one of his
accomplishments in his magnificent days when women vied with each other
in the delight of entertaining him. It was pleasant to see his mother
touch the bell, and sit back in her chair while Martha brought in the
dessert.

"And now I must go. Do not expect me much before seven. I wonder if you
will feel able to come down to tea? Ah! there are the trunks, just in
time. I will send them up, and you will feel quite at home when you have
your belongings in place."

Then he went back to his desk, and for the next two hours was too busy
to think. After all, there is nothing like energetic employment to keep
dismal forebodings out of one's mind.

But that evening after supper, when they had gathered in the library,
Mrs. Lawrence began to question him concerning Hope Mills. Agatha had
said some one had started the business anew.

Fred explained.

"But how could the workmen do it alone? Your father never trusted them,
Fred; and I am sure my father had trouble enough with them in his day!
They were always an ignorant, unreasonable set. Don't you remember how
they struck several years ago, and workmen had to come from elsewhere?
They must have some head. And who found the money? Mr. Minor says they
cannot possibly succeed."

Some time Fred would have to stand Jack Darcy on his true pedestal. As
well do it now, and have it over.

"The project was Mr. Darcy's. I believe he had most of the capital. It
was very generous of him to risk it in such times as these."

Irene looked up from her moody contemplation of the fire. A dull flush
suffused her face.

"Not Jack Darcy," she said,--"Sylvie Barry's great hero."

"Yes."

"Sylvie Barry!" re-echoed Mrs. Lawrence, and she looked sharply at her
son. "And she gave you up for him! Who is he?"

"He used to be in the mill," answered Irene, with all her olden scorn.
"His father was there also. And the Darcys"--

"The Darcys can boast as good blood as we!" exclaimed Fred, his face in
a sudden heat. "And Jack Darcy is a gentleman by birth, by instinct,
and, best of all, the impulses of a true and noble heart."

The discussion recalled an old remembrance to Mrs. Lawrence. She looked
vaguely at her son as if