He sat with his eyes upon the floor. He was just about to open the great subject he had in his mind, when suddenly Miss Gladys herself brought it up. “Samuel,” she asked, “why did you leave my cousin's?” Samuel hesitated. “I--I don't like to say, Miss Gladys.” “Please tell me,” she insisted. “I left it,” he replied in a low voice, “because I found that he got drunk.” “Oh!” said the girl, “when was this?” “It was last Wednesday night, Miss Gladys.” “Tell me all about it, Samuel.” “I--I don't like to,” he stammered. “It's not a story to tell to a lady.” “I already know something about it from my maid,” said she. “Jack Holliday was there, wasn't he?” “Yes, ma'am.” “And some women?” “Yes, ma'am.” “How many, Samuel?” “Four, Miss Gladys.” “Tell me about them, Samuel. What sort of women were they?” It was very hard for Samuel to answer these questions. He blushed as he talked; but Miss Gladys appeared not at all disconcerted--in fact she was greedy for the details. “You say her name was Belle. I wonder if it was that girl from 'The Maids of Mandelay.' Was she a dancer, Samuel?” “I don't know, Miss Gladys.” “And what became of her?” “I took her to a hotel, Miss Gladys.” “And what then?” Samuel stopped short. “I really couldn't tell you,” he said. “But why not?” “Because I promised.” “Whom did you promise?” “I promised the sergeant, Miss Gladys.” “The sergeant! A policeman, you mean?” “Yes, ma'am.” “But what--what did the police have to do with it?” “They took me to jail, Miss Gladys. They thought that I did it.” “Did what?” And again the boy shut his lips. “Listen, Samuel,” pleaded the other. “You know that I am Bertie's cousin. And he's all alone. And I'm responsible for him--” “Oh, Miss Gladys!” cried the boy. “If you only would try to help him! I meant to ask you--” “But how can I help him if you keep me in ignorance?” And so Samuel blurted out the whole story. And Miss Gladys sat dumb with horror. “She killed herself! She killed herself!” she gasped again and again. “Yes, Miss Gladys,” said Samuel. “And it was awful! You can't imagine it!” “I read of the suicide in the paper. But I never dreamed of Bertie!” There was a moment's pause. “It must be a dreadful thing for him to have on his conscience”--began the boy. “He must have been frightened to death!” said she. And then she added quickly, “Samuel, you haven't told anyone about this!” “Not a soul, Miss Gladys.” “You are sure?” “I'm sure, ma'am.” “You didn't tell Dr. Vince?” “I just told him that I had left because Master Albert got drunk, Miss Gladys. That was the truth.” “Yes,” said she; and then, “You always tell the truth, don't you, Samuel?” “I try to,” he replied. “You are very good, aren't you?” she added. Samuel blushed. “No,” he said gravely. “I'm not good at all.” The other looked at him for a moment, and then a smile crossed her face. “I've heard a saying,” she remarked--“'Be good and you'll be happy, but you'll miss a lot of fun.'”