"I don't know about that," she interposed. "It is generous of you. But ought I to accept?" "You need not question that. We are going to be friends, Miss Macklin. Is it necessary for me to bring you references?" "It may be necessary for me to obtain a sponsor," she said, quite seriously. "You do not know a thing about me, Captain Latham." "You know nothing about me, except what I have told you." And he laughed. "And what I read in your countenance," she said soberly. He grinned at her, but rather ruefully. "I never knew my thoughts were advertised in my face." "Oh, no! Not that! But your character is. Otherwise I would not be sitting here with you." "I guess that's all right then," he declared with satisfaction. "Well, let's call it a draw. If you take me at face value, I'll take you at the same rating. Anyhow, we can risk going to supper together." "Well, somewhere to a quiet place. Don't take me where you are known, Captain Latham." "No?" He was puzzled again. "But, then, I am not known anywhere in Boston." "All the better. I ought not to lend myself in any way to making you possible future trouble." "I do not understand you, Miss Macklin." He sat up suddenly on the bench to look at her more sharply. There was an underlying, but important, meaning to her speech. "I know you do not understand," she rejoined gently. She sighed. "I must make you clearly see just who I am and the risk you run in associating with me." "The risk I run!" He uttered the words in both amazement and ridicule. "You do not quite understand, Captain Latham," she repeated in the same gentle tone. There was no raillery in her voice now. She was altogether serious. Her eyes, luminous, yet darkly unfathomable, were held full upon his face. He felt rather than saw that she was under a mental strain. The revelation she was about to make throbbed in her voice when she spoke again. "You do not quite understand. Sellers gives girls work in his restaurant who could by no possibility offer proper references, girls from the Protectory, from homes, as they are called; some, even, who have served jail sentences. I had been two years in the St. Andrew's School for Girls when I went to work for Sellers." CHAPTER IX A GIRL'S STORY There was a ringing in Tunis Latham's ears. As you make Paulmouth Harbor coming from seaward, on a thick day you hear the insistent tolling of the bell buoy over Bitter Reef. That was the distant, but incessant sound that the captain of the _Seamew_ seemed to hear as he sat on that bench on Boston Common beside this strange girl. Without being a prig, Tunis Latham was undeniably a good man. Whether he was altogether a wise man was perhaps a subject for argument. At least, his future conduct must settle that point.