"It exposes you to a temptation very hard to resist. Such beauty as yours should be but the reflex of character. I once saw, in an art gallery of New York, a marble face so white, pure, and sweet, that it has ever remained in my memory as an emblem of spiritual beauty. Suppose every one that came in should touch that face, and some with coarse and grimy fingers, what a smutched and tawdry look it would soon have. You cannot help the admiring glances, flattering words, and the homage that ever waits on beauty, any more than the marble face the soiling touch of any Vandal hand; but you can prevent your soul from being stained and smirched with vanity and pride." "I never had any one to talk to me in this way," said Lottie, looking demurely down. "Perhaps I should have been better if I had. I fear you think me very vain and conceited." "I should think it very strange if you were not somewhat vain. And yet you do not act as if you were." "Supposing I am vain. What difference does it make, if no one knows it?" she asked abruptly. "There are two who always will know it." "Who?" "God and yourself. And by and by all masks must be dropped, and all the world see us as we are." "Do you believe that?" she asked, a little startled at the thought. "I know it," he replied, in a tone of quiet confidence that carries more conviction than loud assertion. "Moreover, your beauty involves a heavy burden of responsibility." "Really, Mr. Hemstead, if you keep on you will prove beauty a great misfortune, whether I possess it or not." "Far from it." "Granting for sake of argument your premise, how am I burdened with responsibility?" "Would it not almost break your heart, if your honorable father were misappropriating money intrusted to his care?" "Don't suggest such a thing." "Only for the sake of illustration. Suppose he had the qualities and position which led a great many to place their means in his hands; would that not increase his responsibility?" "Yes, if he accepted such trusts."