philosophy of her own, which
amounted almost to a gentle obtuseness, and made her a comfortable
non-conductor, preventing more electric souls from shocking each other.

On the morning of the fourth day, Dorothy came out of her mother's room
with a tray of empty dishes in her hands. She saw Evesham at the
stair-head and hovered about in the shadowy part of the hall till he
should go down.

"Dorothy," he said, "I'm waiting for you." He took the tray from her
and rested it on the banisters. "Your father and I have talked over all
the business. He's got the impression I'm one of the most generous
fellows in the world. I intend to let him rest in that delusion for the
present. Now may I speak to him about something else, Dorothy? Have I
not waited long enough for my heart's desire?"

"Take care!" said Dorothy, softly,--"thee'll upset the tea-cups!"

"Confound the tea-cups!" He stooped to place the irrelevant tray on the
floor, but now Dorothy was half-way down the staircase. He caught her
on the landing, and taking both her hands, drew her down on the step
beside him.

"Dorothy, this is the second time you've taken advantage of my
unsuspicious nature! This time you shall be punished! You needn't try
to hide your face, you little traitor! There's no repentance in you!"

"If I'm to be punished there's no need of repentance."

"Dorothy, do you know, I've never heard you speak my name, except once,
when you were angry with me."

"When was that?"

"The night I caught you at the gate. You said, 'I would rather have one
of those dumb brutes for company than thee, Walter Evesham.' You said
it in the fiercest little voice! Even the 'thee' sounded as if you
hated me."

"I did," said Dorothy promptly. "I had reason to."

"Do you hate me now, Dorothy?"

"Not so much as I did then."

"What an implacable little Quaker you are!"

"A tyrant is _always_ hated," said Dorothy, trying to release her
hands.

"If you will look in my eyes, Dorothy, and call me by my name, just
once,--I'll let 'thee' go."

"Walter Evesham!" said Dorothy, with great firmness and decision.

"No! that won't do! You must look at me,--and say it softly,--in a
little sentence, Dorothy!"

"Will thee please let me go, Walter?"

Walter Evesham was a man of his word, but as Dorothy sped away, he
looked as if he wished he were not.

The next evening, Friend Barton sat by his wife's easy-chair, drawn
into the circle of firelight, with his elbows on h