"Certainly not--have we--" Miss Mary faltered. This beginning was a bit
ominous, wholly unexpected.

"There is a girl, Zora, who has just entered, who--I must speak
candidly--who ought not to be here; I thought it but right to let you
know."

"Thank you, so much. I'll tell Miss Smith." Mary Taylor suddenly felt
herself a judge of character. "I suspected that she was--not what she
ought to be. Believe me, we appreciate your interest."

A few more words, and Mr. Cresswell, after bending courteously over her
hand with a deference no New Englander had ever shown, was riding away
on his white mare.

For a while Mary Taylor sat very quietly. It was like a breath of air
from the real world, this hour's chat with a well-bred gentleman. She
wondered how she had done her part--had she been too eager and
school-girlish? Had she met this stately ceremony with enough breeding
to show that she too was somebody? She pounced upon Miss Smith the
minute that lady entered the office.

"Miss Smith, who do you think has been here?" she burst out
enthusiastically.

"I saw him on the lawn." There was a suspicious lack of warmth in this
brief affirmation.

"He was so gracious and kindly, and he knows my brother. And oh, Miss
Smith! we've got to send that Zora right away."