"Yes, she had come down to spend Thanksgiving here in the city. She had been expecting, it seems, to go to a hotel; but a woman on the train gave her the address of some friend, and she was looking up this unknown landlady when I came along." "Little fool!" said Winifred, with finely feminine exasperation. "She is--beyond a doubt she is; but still--" "But still," said Winifred, with a vanishing smile, "you naturally have more sympathy with her folly than I have." (At this moment Winifred had forgotten the charge of lack of sympathy which she had brought against the man before her three months ago.) "The question is, of course, what is to be done with her?" Flint felt an immense sense of relief at Winifred's practical words, which seemed to remove the situation from the element of tragedy to rather sordid commonplace. "That's it exactly," he said helplessly. "I thought of taking her to Nora Costello." "That would not do at all," said Winifred, positively. "I am disappointed in you. If you had trusted to my proffer of friendship yesterday, you would have brought her to me." "I--I did," hesitated Flint; "she is in the rear room there. But the more I think of it, the more I feel as if I could not have her here near you. She is--" "You need not tell me what Tilly Marsden is," Winifred interrupted. "I know her of old. She is silly and pert, and cheaply sensational; but she is not vicious, and if she were, our duty would be the same. You may leave her with Miss Standish and me. We will take care of her, and try to make something of her." "I suppose I ought to say 'Good-by' to her?" "By no means. Go, and leave her to me." "Have you no word for me at parting?" "No, not now,--all that can wait." "Good-night, then, since you will let me say nothing more." Winifred answered with a farewell glance, full of confidence and of love. Then the door closed after Flint, and Winifred threw open the folding-doors into the dining-room. "How do you do, Miss Marsden?" she said, taking Tilly's hand. The girl looked at her, stupidly bewildered. "You do not recognize me, I see, but I remember you from seeing you with Leonard Davitt down at Nepaug." Tilly blushed painfully, but Winifred took no notice of her embarrassment. "Mr. Flint said you were belated in your trip to the city, so he brought you to us for the night," Winifred continued, as if it were the most natural episode in the world. "And did he tell you--" "He told me nothing else. He was in a hurry, I suppose." "Then he is gone?" "Yes, he is gone, and I am glad, because it is time you went to bed after you have had such a tiresome journey. Come upstairs. I am going to give you the little room next Miss Standish's. You remember her perhaps--she was at Nepaug too. To-morrow we will talk over anything you wish to tell me. Come!" CHAPTER XXI GOD'S PUPPETS