"She is, indeed, beautiful," said the banker, almost aloud, when he was alone; "and the old lady is right--she is as innocent as if she had not fallen. I wonder--" Here he stopped short, and walked to the glass over the mantelpiece, where he was still gazing on his own features, when Mrs. Leslie returned. "Well, sir," said she, a little surprised at this seeming vanity in so pious a man. The banker started. "Madam, I honour your penetration as much as your charity; I think that there is so much to be feared in letting all the world know this young female's past error, that, though I dare not advise, I cannot blame, your concealment of it." "But, sir, your words have sunk deep into my thoughts; you said every deviation from truth was a forfeiture of duty." "Certainly; but there are some exceptions. The world is a bad world, we are born in sin; and the children of wrath. We do not tell infants all the truth, when they ask us questions, the proper answers of which would mislead, not enlighten them. In some things the whole world are infants. The very science of government is the science of concealing truth--so is the system of trade. We could not blame the tradesman for not telling the public that if all his debts were called in he would be a bankrupt." "And he may marry her after all--this Mr. Butler." "Heaven forbid--the villain!--Well, madam, I will see to this poor young thing--she shall not want a guide." "Heaven reward you! How wicked some people are to call you severe!" "I can bear /that/ blame with a meek temper, madam. Good day." "Good day. You will remember how strictly confidential has been our conversation." "Not a breath shall transpire. I will send you some tracts to-morrow--so comforting. Heaven bless you!"