"But you mean to say you can't even advise her?"

"Oh, no; we can. But--we're not--er--exactly welcomed. In fact," said
Cresswell gravely, "the chief criticism I have against your Northerners'
schools for Negroes is, that they not only fail to enlist the sympathy
and aid of the _best_ Southerners, but even repel it."

"That is very wrong--very wrong," commented the Englishman warmly, a
sentiment in which Mrs. Grey hastened to agree.

"Of course," continued Cresswell, "I am free to confess that I have no
personal desire to dabble in philanthropy, or conduct schools of any
kind; my hands are full of other matters."

"But it's precisely the advice of such disinterested men that
philanthropic work needs," Mr. Vanderpool urged.

"Well, I volunteered advice once in this case and I sha'n't repeat the
experiment soon," said Cresswell laughing. Mrs. Grey wanted to hear the
incident, but the young man was politely reluctant. Mary Taylor,
however, related the tale of Zora to Mrs. Grey's private ear later.

"Fortunately," said Mr. Vanderpool, "Northerners and Southerners are
arriving at a better mutual understanding on most of these matters."

"Yes, indeed," Cresswell agreed. "After all, they never were far apart,
even in slavery days; both sides were honest and sincere."

All through the dinner Mr. Smith had been preoccupied and taciturn. Now
he abruptly shot a glance at Cresswell.