"Robert," she said, suddenly grown serious, "I wish you would do
something for me."

"All right; what is it?" he asked.

She timidly put her hand on his, and looked up at him earnestly.

"It's about Dick Harris," she said. "I wish you would not be with
him so much."

Redding's face clouded. "You aren't afraid to trust me?" he asked.

"Oh, no; it isn't that," she said hurriedly; "but, Robert, it makes
people think such wrong things about you; I can't bear to have you
misjudged."

Redding put his arm around her, and together they stood looking down
into the glowing embers.

"Tell me about it, little girl; what have you heard?" he asked.

She hesitated. "It wasn't true what they said. I knew it wasn't
true, but they had no right to say it."

"Well, let's hear it, anyway. What was it?"

"Some people were here last night from New Orleans; they asked if I
knew you--said they knew you and Dick the year you spent there."