Belle, attended by her father, was not in the least abashed by
the elegance of Mr. Schriven's parlor, as he had rather hoped she
would be, but he was much impressed by Mr. Jocelyn's fine appearance
and courtly bearing. "No wonder the girl's course has been peculiar,"
he thought. "She comes from no common stock. If I've ever seen a
Southern gentleman, her father's one, and her plump little body is
full of hot Southern blood. She's a thoroughbred, and that accounts
for her smartness and fearlessness. Where other girls would whine
and toady to your face, and be sly and catlike behind your back,
she'd look you in the eyes and say all she meant point-blank. I'm
glad indeed things are taking their present course, for these people
could make any man trouble," and he treated his guests very suavely.

Belle soon told her story in a straightforward manner. One of her
generous projects was to have a rather grand funeral, with all the
girls in the shop attending in a procession. "What a child she is!"
thought Mr. Schriven, with difficulty repressing a laugh, but he
proceeded very gravely to induce the girl to take his own practical
view.

"In the first place, my child," he said, "that woman died of
consumption--she didn't starve at all."

"I think she died the sooner," Belle faltered.

"Possibly. If so, she was the sooner out of her misery. At any rate
we are not to blame, since, as you have said, we didn't know. Now
a funeral, such as you suggest, would be very costly, and would do
no one any good. It would scarcely be in good taste, for, considering