Many particulars had been added from time to time, and Daisy's quick eyes had seen some things of which she did not speak to either mother or sister. She believed that her handsome young cousin was in more danger than his own family realized. She know that the cigarettes which he smoked grew daily more numerous, and she had once or twice detected the odor of wine about him, and had been frightened over a certain gay recklessness which was unlike his usual courtesy. She believed that, while the restraints of a business life and the responsibility of standing somewhat, at least, in his dead father's place, held him in check during the week, the freedom of Sunday and the influence of his chosen friends were dragging him downward faster than his mother knew. She had tried hard to use her influence in the right direction; but while she certainly had influence with him, it was not strong enough to draw him to church or to the Sabbath-school. Since Daisy had made acquaintance with the new pastor, Mr. Easton, and joined his Bible Class, she had begun to share her aunt's almost superstitious belief that if Phil could only be gotten under that man's influence, great things would be accomplished. But it was just that man's influence which he seemed determined to avoid. Only the Sabbath before had Daisy spent the entire morning coaxing and arguing, being gayly answered by her quick-witted cousin; she alternately hopeful and fearful; but so earnest had been her effort and her prayer, that hope had really predominated until she saw him drive away from the door with one of his friends, just as she was tying her ribbons in a flutter of haste to catch him and make one last effort. After that she sat down in a little heap before her window and cried, and told herself that it was of no use, she had done all she could. No wonder that on this Saturday morning she sighed when the young man was gone. Last evening the odor of wine had been distinct about him, and the wildness which his mother called good spirits, Daisy believed meant danger in a more terrible form than the mother had even thought of as yet. A succession of low, rapid, impatient knocks sounded at her door, and almost before she could answer, her Cousin Blanche flitted in. A marked contrast to Daisy was this Cousin Blanche. Not that her hair was not brown, and her cheeks rosy, and her whole face full of sparkle; pretty she was, decidedly, if she had kept her hair out of her eyes, which, when fully dressed, she never did. And there was a certain pleasure in looking at her. She took life in all its forms, even its forms of care such as touched her, with a sort of joyish abandon.