stately
with her air of injured pride.

"Do you mean that I should rule my conduct to suit the ideas of the
drunken loafers at the settlement poolroom?"

"Oh!" said Festing impatiently, "try to be sensible! You have done a
foolish thing, but you needn't make it worse. The trouble is that
those loafers' opinions will be reflected all round the neighborhood.
Wilkinson won't say anything more; at least, he won't when I'm about;
but I can't keep on throwing out people who agree with him."

"That is plain. If you were not so angry, the remark would be humorous."

"I'm not angry," Festing rejoined.

"Well, I am," said Helen. "And I think I have some grounds. Must I let
those tipsy gossips dictate when I may see my friends?"

"Does it matter if you see them or not? You don't really care for Bob."

"No," said Helen, trying to be calm. "In a way, I don't care for Bob;
that is, I'm glad I didn't marry him. But I don't see why I should stop
him coming here when Sadie wants to bring him. She's my friend, and she
knows it does Bob good. I'm too angry to flatter you, Stephen, but you
have some influence--"

Festing laughed. "All the influence I've got won't go far with Bob. I
don't say the fellow's vicious, but he's an extravagant slacker and a
fool, which is perhaps as bad. Anyhow, if he can be reformed at all,
it's Sadie's business, and I've no doubt she finds it an arduous
job. There's no use in an outsider meddling, and your anxiety for his
improvement might be misunderstood. In fact, it has been seriously
misunderstood."

"You seem to have made up your mind about the matter," Helen remarked
with a curious look.

"I have. Perhaps the easiest way would be for you to give Sadie a hint."

"Suppose I refuse?"

"Then I shall have to talk to Bob. After all, that might be better."

Helen flushed, but her color faded and her face got white. "You are
willing to let this scurrilous gossip influence you as far as that? Do
you mean to forbid my friends coming to see me?"

"I won't have Bob hanging round my house. The wastrel has done you harm
enough."

"You forget something," Helen rejoined in a strained, cold voice. "The
house is mine."

She knew her mistake as she saw the change in Festing's look, and weakly
turned her head. When she looked back it was too late. His hands were
clenched and his gaze was fixed.

"I--I didn't quite mean that," she faltered.

"Anyhow, it's true," said Festing quietly. "The farm is yours