you." She darted from them in search of Merton; ere she could turn the
angle of the house he met her.

"You had better go home, my girl," said he gravely.

"Oh, no, no! I have been too unkind to George already," and she turned
toward him like a pitying angel with hands extended as if they would
bring balm to a hurt soul.

Meadows left chuckling and was red and white by turns.

Merton was one of those friends one may make sure of finding in
adversity.

"There," cried he, "George, I told you how it would end."

George wheeled round on him like lightning.

"What, do you come here to insult over me? I must be a long way lower
than I am, before I shall be as low as you were when my mother took
you up and made a man of you."

"George, George!" cried Susan in dismay; "stop, for pity's sake,
before you say words that will separate us forever. Father," cried the
peace-making angel, "how can you push poor George so hard and him in
trouble! and we have all been too unkind to him to-day."

Ere either could answer, there was happily another interruption. A
smart servant in livery walked up to them with a letter. With the
instinctive feeling of class they all endeavored to conceal their