tracing with a trembling finger the
pattern of the beadwork on the ottoman
before which she knelt, listened with an
inward shiver of dismay and ecstasy.
But when they rose to their feet she
had nothing to say. He, too, was
silent. He went away quite exhausted
by his struggle with this impassive,
unresisting creature.

He hardly spoke to Mary all the way
home. "A hardened sinner," he was
thinking. "Poor, lovely creature! So
young and so lost!" Under Mary's
incessant chatter, her tugs at the end of
the reins, her little bursts of joy at the
sight of a bird or a roadside flower, he
was thinking, with a strange new pain--a
pain no other sinner had ever roused in
him--of the girl he had left. He
knew that his arguments had not
moved her. "I believe," he thought,
the color rising in his face, "that
she dislikes me! She says she loves
Dr. Lavendar; yes, she must dislike me.
Is my manner too severe? Perhaps
my appearance is unattractive." He
looked down at his coat uneasily.

As for Philly, left to herself, she