After tea, when they were again around the parlor fire, St. John came in. The sight of him changed the expression of the guest's face; the care-worn look came back, and a silence. Before very long, he said, rising, that he must go home, and make ready for the reception of the criminals. This was plainly a thing that ought to be done, and Mrs. Varian had been thinking so for half an hour. St. John went with him to the door, and Missy heard Mr. Andrews say, as they parted on the piazza: "I have wanted to see you. I hope you don't think that, because our interview was what it was, I shrink from further acquaintance. Perhaps _I_ should have gone to you, and said this. I hope you will take it now. You can understand how hard it is for me to say this." "I do understand," said St. John earnestly; "and I hope that the painful association will not interfere with our future intercourse. Perhaps _I_ should have gone to _you_, and said this." She lost what followed--an irreparable loss. She had been standing at the window, which was open, behind the curtain, and could not have helped hearing what they said. "Rather a high and mighty penitent," she said to herself, indignantly, going over his words in her mind. "And St. John is so young, and so--well, I am afraid he's weak. It is natural for people to be weak when they are young. He seemed only anxious to propitiate him. I suppose he hopes in that way to get an influence over him. Of course, it must be hard to stand up against a man of double his own age; but I should think being a priest would give him courage." At this time, Jay woke up, and, in taking him to bed, she missed St. John's return to the parlor, and the remainder of his visit. "Mamma, what do you think of him?" she said, sitting down beside her mother's sofa late that night. "I rather like him," was the answer. "Yes, if one could forget everything. I think he is gentlemanly, and unobjectionable in manner--almost pleasing. But I suppose I ought not to forget what I know of his cruel neglect, and of the almost tragic end of it." "Of course, that seems terrible--but--" "But, mamma!" cried Missy, "I scarcely expected you to say that. Oh, how true it is, women are cruel to each other. Think--you know nothing in favor of Mr. Andrews. Everything in his disfavor: nothing against Mrs. Andrews: everything in her favor, and yet you say, 'I rather like him; all this is very terrible--_but_--'" "Well, you know I had never seen the wife. You are influenced by admiration for her. I am influenced by something that attracts me in the husband. We really, Missy, do not know much of the lives of either of them."