Her mother sat thinking.

"I wish I knew what to say," she said, sincerely, "or what to do. I
should be glad to do something, believe me. I am deeply sorry for you,
my boy. It seems to me that your case is a peculiarly hard one. I am
glad I have heard your story, for I can give you my sympathy, if nothing
more. You made a mistake; you were thoughtless and weak; yes, you did
wrong. But--I can't help saying it--it seems to me that your punishment
is too great. You have escaped nothing; the worst has come. The worst
fault was not yours, and yet you are suffering most. At least, don't be
ashamed of having told me," said Mrs. Scott, that ready sympathy of
which her face spoke strongly roused.

"I wish I could help you," she declared. "Not only does your case
deserve it, but Trudy Carr here"--she smiled brightly. "I feel as though
I knew Trudy Carr. I have heard nothing but items concerning her since
Rosalie first saw her. And that little adventure on the bay is not to be
forgotten. Yes, I would help you gladly."

"There's only one way for me," said Collin. "If I could go back there to
work, and show Mr. Conover what I _can_ be and do, there'd be some
chance for me; I could 'live it down.' But _that's_ gone up."

"That is the only way, or the best by far," was Mrs. Scott's quiet
agreement. "I wish it might be. I had an idea about it--I wonder--I want
to do what I can. I might send a note to Mr. Conover." And then she
added, with an impulsiveness much like Rosalie's own, "I will go myself.
We'll go together. I have an idea, as I said. Come, it will do no harm
to try."