lp to the other
without any danger of the complication which you fear."

"They are both at the inflammable age," persisted Gorham; "it is just as
well to guard against uncertainties."

Eleanor smiled. "We are all inconsistent, aren't we, dear? We were so
exasperated with Stephen Sanford because he would not allow Allen to
express his own individuality, yet we are almost ready to interfere with
the development of Alice's. All seems to be progressing exactly as you
wish it. The child's admiration for Mr. Covington is supreme, and with
Alice that is the first step. Then their daily intercourse ought to give
ample opportunity for settling the question your way. But if it proved
finally that her happiness was dependent upon her marrying Allen, or any
other one of her admirers, you would be the first to urge it--wouldn't
you, dear?"

"Of course I should," Gorham admitted; "but I can't consider any
alternative. Admiration and respect are all very well as far as they go,
but they are no guarantee when a good-looking, impulsive youngster is
concerned."

"I know, dear," Eleanor continued, quietly. "A man came into my life
once whom I admired and respected with all my strength, yet I never
loved him."

Gorham paused abruptly and looked at his wife with the same strange
expression which she occasionally noted upon his face.

"You never loved him?" he repeated.

"No, dear. He was a noble character, and he once did me a great service,
but I never loved him. With Alice my one fear is that she may mistake
respect for affection, and with her nature such an error would ruin her
life."

"Some time you must tell me about him," Gorham insisted, still reverting
to her chance remark.

Eleanor's face sobered. "Some time I will, but not now. It is all a part
of that memory I am ever trying to forget--a bright lining to that heavy
cloud. Some time, dear, but not now."

"Suppose I have a little chat with Alice before dinner," Gorham said,
changing the subject abruptly. "The child must not think that I am
neglecting her. I must make her realize how proud I am of her."

"Do," Eleanor replied. "I will follow you in a few moments." She sank
upon a convenient seat as her husband disappeared indoors. Here, half an
hour later, still communing with the early twilight as it deepened into
dusk, Alice and her father found her, when they came out from the house,
arm in arm. Who shall say what spring the words unconsciously released,
conjuring