“No,” said Bart, slowly; “I guess they’ll be along.” “Well, I don’t want that she sh’u’d stay out till this time o’ night with anybody but you. She’s old enough to know better. It don’t look well.” “It looks all right, as fur as that goes,” said Bart. “Oh, if _you_ think so.” Mrs. Vaiden lowered the candle huffily. Bart arose and came inside. He was pale but he spoke calmly, and he looked her straight in the eyes. “It’s all right as fur as she goes; I’d trust her anywheres. But how about him? What kind of a man is he?” “Oh, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Vaiden, weakly. “How d’ you expect me to know what kind of a _man_ he is? He’s a nice-appearin’, polite sort of a fello’, an’ he writes for a newspaper ’n New York—one o’ them big ones. But he don’t seem to me to have much backbone or stand-upness about him. I sh’u’d think he’s one o’ them that never _intends_ to do anything wrong, but does it just because it’s pleasant for the time bein’, and then feels sorry for ’t afte’ards.” Bart’s brows bent together blackly. “But I must say”—Mrs. Vaiden’s tone gathered firmness—“you might pattern after him a little in politeness, Bart. I think Laviny likes it. He’s alwus openin’ gates for her, an’ runnin’ to set chairs for her when she comes into a room, an’ takin’ off his hat to her, an’ carryin’ her umberella, an’ fetchin’ her flow’rs; an’ I b’lieve he’d most die before he’d walk on the inside o’ the sidewalk or go over a crossin’ ahead o’ her. An’ I can see Laviny likes them things.” She put the candle on the table and huddled down into a chair. The look of anger on the man’s face gave place to one of keen dismay. “I didn’t know she liked such things. I never thought about ’em. I wa’n’t brought up to such foolishness.” “Well, she likes ’em, anyhow. I guess most women do.” Mrs. Vaiden sighed unconsciously. “Why, Bart, it’s a quarter of, an’ she ain’t here yet. D’ you want I sh’u’d go after her?” “No, I don’t want you sh’u’d go after her. I want you sh’u’d let her alone, an’ show her we got confidence in her. She’s just the same as my wife, an’ I don’t want her own mother sh’u’d think she’d do anything she hadn’t ort to.” Mrs. Vaiden’s feelings were sensitive and easily hurt; and she sat now in icy silence, looking at the clock. But when it struck eleven she thawed, being now thoroughly frightened. “Oh, Bart, I do think we’d best look in her room. She might ’a’ got in someway without our hearin’ her—an’ us settin’ hyeer like a couple o’ bumps on a lawg.” “She might ’a’,” said Bart, as if struck by the suggestion. “You get me a candle an’ I’ll go up and see. You stay here,” he added, over his shoulder, as he took the candle and started. “Look out!” she cried, sharply, as the blue flame plowed a gutter down one side of the candle. “Don’t hold it so crooked! You’ll spill the sperm onto the stair-carpet!”