Sarah shivered. She knew now that in Peter's good opinion of her lay much of what she cared for in this world. In the good opinion of some man or other lay most of what the other girls in the store cared for. Always with them was the undying note--to hold and keep men's good opinion, to keep it at no matter what sacrifice of everything else. "What they don't know will never hurt them. A man is no better off because he knows things!" She had heard that so often; and no girl is spending eight hours a day for two years with other girls without soaking in something of what they believe--not and be human, that is. But she had never met a man like Peter. He held her in such respect, he held all girls in such respect, that it was solemn. Only the night before she had thought one time he was going to kiss her, and she had surged toward him, with her lips soft for him, but he had only said "Good night" suddenly and had run off--almost--up the street. But Peter was speaking. "Men have to go out to fight for a living in places where the fighting, Sarah, is sometimes pretty fierce. And sometimes that kind o' fighting makes 'em rough, and maybe cruel in spots. But that don't mean they're bad men. Men c'n be rough sometimes, but I never knew a man--that was any good, Sarah--that wanted women to have any o' men's badness. Aboard a vessel we just nacherally expect every man in her will 'tend to his part o' the work, even if he loses his life sometimes 'tendin' to it. That's a man's part, an' it's what he owes to the other men aboard. An' every man has that, an' it's as much a part of him as the beard on his face. And so when there's a woman somewhere a man's countin' on, he expects just nacherally she'll hold out against all the world for him. That's her part. And when to-night, Sarah, that fat-faced, lyin' brute said you'd drunk wine with him, 'twas just as much as if you'd said you liked him once--liked his kind." Sarah sat down on the step. Pretty soon--she couldn't help it--Peter heard her sobbing. He lifted her up. "Sarah, Sarah; what is it?" She drew away from him; for, of course, when she told him, he, that was so good himself, would never care for her again. "It was true what he said, Peter! I did drink wine with him, and in that same place!" Peter stood very still. And then he moved out to the curbstone, and with little tugs at his collar kept looking up at the sky. By and by he came back to the doorway. "I wish you hadn't, Sarah; I wish you hadn't," he said, but came no nearer. "Wish I hadn't told you?" "No, no; I'm glad you told me. And I know what it meant for you to tell me. I'd rather take a chance going over the side--redjacks, oilskins, and all--in a high sea after a shipmate than have to tell a girl something about myself that I know she don't want to hear. Specially when I care for her--not that I'm thinkin' you care for me so much, Sarah."