But she turns on him, crying: "It is not your place to criticise him. If atonement is in order, atone for yourself, Mr. Immaculate!" and this is another facer for Oliver, who has had his weak moments in which he has listened to sirens' voices, as many men in New York society have. Then, a second after, the girl says, slowly: "You go on with your trip, Mrs. Livingston, as if nothing had happened." "But you?" asks the widow, who, knowing that Miss Travenion's remarks have been made in frenzy, forgives her and pities her. "I go to my father." "To do what?" "To DRAG HIM FROM HIS INIQUITY! Good-night, and--_good-bye_," and saying this, the young lady sweeps from the room, brushing past Louise, who is standing outside the door in childish astonishment and dismay. But Mrs. Livingston is whispering to Ollie. "Idiot! You have driven her and her million away from us. Think of Louise and me." To this he answers surlily, "I don't believe it wise to wed a girl society will look down upon." "Fool!" cries his mother. "How long do you think it will take in New York society for a girl with sixty thousand dollars a year to live anything down?" and leaving him to digest this truthful platitude, she pursues Miss Travenion, overtaking her at the entrance of that young lady's room. Here, diplomat as she is, she makes a mistake. Louise has also followed, and Erma impulsively seizes the girl, whom she loves very well, and kisses her tenderly and whispers, "Good-bye!" Coming upon this, Mrs. Livingston, anxious for uninterrupted interview, thoughtlessly says: "Louise, go to bed at once! We leave on the early train to-morrow morning!" At this, Erma, whom humiliation makes sensitive, draws back and mutters, "Do you fear my touch will contaminate her?" "Not at all," says Mrs. Livingston. "You mistake me, dear Erma. I want to beg you to come with us to California. You mustn't think of what Ollie in his agitation said to you." "I don't," answers Erma. "Thank God that wounded my pride, but not my heart!" For in all this cruel humiliation she has been conscious of one joy--that any chance of union with Oliver Livingston is now forever ended. "You must reconsider your rash determination," entreats the widow. "Impossible!" "In your present excited state you had better not see your father." "Now it is necessary that I see my father--more so than ever." "You cannot live with him with those awful women." "Oh, don't fear for me," says the girl. "There are others who will protect me here, if he will not." "Who?" gasps the widow.