hem ever thought of
falling in love with her.

Young Perry, in twenty minutes, decided that she was the most brilliant
and agreeable of companions. He had talked, and she had spoken only
with her listening, sympathetic eyes. He was always apt to be voluble.
On this occasion he was too voluble. "You are from Weir, I think, in
Delaware, Mrs. Waldeaux?" he asked. "I must have seen the name of the
town with yours on the list of passengers, for the story of a woman who
once lived there has been haunting me all day. I have not seen nor
thought of her for years, and I could not account for my sudden
remembrance of her."

"Who was she?" asked George, trying to save his mother from Perry, who
threatened to be a bore.

"Her name was Pauline Felix. You have heard her story, Mrs. Waldeaux?"

"Yes" said Frances coldly. "I have heard her story. Can you find my
shawl, George?"

But Perry was conscious of no rebuff, and turned cheerfully to George.
"It was one of those dramas of real life, too unlikely to put into a
novel. She was the daughter of a poor clergyman in Weir, a devout,
good man, I believe. She had marvellous beauty and a devilish
disposition. She ran away, lived a wild life in Paris, and became the
mistress of a Russian Grand Duke. Her death----"

He could not have told why he stopped. Mrs. Waldeaux still watched
him, attentive, but the sympathetic smile had frozen into icy civility.
She had the old-fashioned modesty of her generation. What right had
this young man to speak of "mistresses" to her? Clara's girls within
hearing too! She rose when he paused, bowed, and hurried to them, like
a hen fluttering to protect her chicks.

"He was talking to me of a woman," she said excitedly to Clara, "who is
never mentioned by decent people."

"Yes, I heard him," said Miss Vance. "Poor Pauline! Her career was
always a mystery to me. I was at school with her, and she was the most
generous, lovable girl! Yet she came to a wretched end," turning to
her flock, her tone growing didactic. "One is never safe, you see. One
must always be on guard."

"Oh, my dear!" cried Frances impatiently. "You surely don't mean to
class these girls and me with Pauline Felix! Come, come!"

"None of us is safe," repeated Clara stiffly. "Somebody says there is
a possible vice in the purest soul, and it may lie perdu there until
old age. But it will break out some day."

Mrs. Waldeaux looked, laughing, at the eager, blush