The young man laughed. “That's all very fine,” he said. “When it was your forefathers who made it possible for you to have the mental capacity for the very opinion you have just expressed. At any rate, there is a little comfort in your view, for if you were to pride yourself on Price's theories, as many a woman would, you might look higher than a poor preacher with such an untraceable name as mine. And you know, ordinary as it is, you have simply got to wear it sooner or later.” “You must not mention that again,” Cynthia said, firmly. “I tell you, I am not good enough for a minister's wife. There is a streak of worldliness in me that I shall never overcome.” “That cuts me like a knife,” said Hillhouse. “It hurts because it reminds me of something I once heard Pole Baker say in a group at the post-office. He said that women simply do not like what is known as a 'goody-goody' man. Sometimes as coarse a fellow as Pole hits the nail of truth on the head while a better-educated man would miss and mash his thumb. But if I am in the pulpit, I'm only human. It seemed to me the other day when I saw you and Nelson Floyd driving alone up the mountain that the very fires of hell itself raged inside of me. I always hold family prayer at home for the benefit of my mother and sister, but that night I cut it out, and lay on the bed rolling and tossing like a crazy man. He's handsome, Miss Cynthia, and he has a soft voice and a way of making all women sympathize with him--why they do it, I don't know. It's true he's had a most miserable childhood, but he is making money hand over hand now, and has everything in his favor.” “He's not a happy man, Mr. Hillhouse; any one who knows him can see that.” “Oh, I suppose he broods over the mystery that hangs over his origin,” said the preacher. “That's only natural for an ambitious man. I once knew a fellow who was a foundling, and he told me he never intended to get married on that account. He was morbidly sensitive about it, but it is different with Floyd. He _does_ know his name, at least, and he will, no doubt, discover his relatives some day. But it hurts me to see you with him so much.” “Why, he goes with other girls,” Cynthia said, her lips set together tightly, her face averted. “And perhaps you know, Miss Cynthia, that people talk about some of the girls he has been with.” “I know that,” said the girl, looking at him with an absent glance. “There is no use going over it. I hear nothing all day long at home except that--that--that! Oh, sometimes I wish I were dead!” “Ah, that hurts worse than anything I have heard you say,” declared the minister, stroking his thin face with an unsteady hand. “Why should a beautiful, pure, human flower like you be made unhappy because of contact with a--”