well; then it remained only (this rather
loftily) for Esme herself to explain to Mr. Surtaine. Later, she decided
to explain by word of mouth. This would involve her return to
Worthington, which she had come to long for. She had become sensible of
a species of homesickness.

In some ill-defined way Harrington Surtaine was involved in that
nostalgia. Not that she had any desire to see him! But she felt a
certain justifiable curiosity--she was satisfied that it was
justifiable--to know what he was doing with the "Clarion," since her
established sphere of influence had ceased to be influential. Was he
really as unyielding in other tests of principle as he had shown himself
with her? Already she had altered her attitude to the extent of
admitting that it _was_ principle, even though mistaken. Esme had been
subscribing to the "Clarion," and studying it; also she had written,
withal rather guardedly, to sundry people who might throw light on the
subject; to her uncle, to Dr. Hugh Merritt, her old and loyal friend
largely by virtue of being one of the few young men of the place who
never had been in love with her (he had other preoccupations), to young
Denton the reporter, who was a sort of cousin, and to Mrs. Festus
Willard, who, alone of the correspondents, suspected the underlying
motive. From these sundry informants she garnered diverse opinions; the
sum and substance of which was that, on the whole, Hal was fighting the
good fight and with some success. Thereupon Esme hated him harder than
before--and with considerably more difficulty.

On a late May day she had slipped quietly back into Worthington. That
small portion of the populace which constituted Worthington society was
ready to welcome her joyously. But she had no wish to be joyously
welcomed. She didn't feel particularly joyous, herself. And society
meant going to places where she would undoubtedly meet Will Douglas and
would probably not meet Hal Surtaine. Esme confessed to herself that
Douglas was rather on her conscience, a fact which, in itself, marked
some change of nature in the Great American Pumess. She decided that
society was a bore. For refuge she turned to her interest in the slums,
where the Reverend Norman Hale, for whom she had a healthy, honest
respect and liking, was, so she learned, finding his hands rather more
than full. Always an enthusiast in her pursuits, she now threw herself
into this to the total exclusion of all other interests.

To