Glory peered up under her long eyelashes. “I mean the dangers from--I'm ashamed in my soul to say it--the dangers from men.” She shot up a quick glance into his face and said in a moment, “You saw us, didn't you?” “Yes, I saw you, and I didn't like your choice of company.” She dropped her head demurely and said, “The man?” John hesitated. “I was speaking of the girl. I don't like the freedom with which she carries herself in this house. Among these good and devoted women is there no one but this--this----?” Glory's lower lip began to show its inner side. “She's bright and lively, that's all I care.” “But it's not all _I_ care, Glory, and if such men as that are her friends outside----” Glory's head went up. “What is it to me who are her friends outside?” “Everything, if you allow yourself to meet them again.” “Well,” doggedly, “I am going to meet them again. I'm going to the Nurses' Ball on Tuesday.” John answered with deliberation, “Not in that girl's company.” “Why not?” “I say _not_ in that girl's company.” There was a short pause, and then Glory said with a quivering mouth: “You are vexing me, and you will end by making me cry. Don't you see you are degrading me too? I am not used to being degraded. You see me with a weak silly creature who hasn't an idea in her head and can do nothing but giggle and laugh and make eyes at men, and you think I'm going to be led away by her. Do you suppose a girl can't take care of herself?” “As you will, then,” said John, with a fling of his hand, going off down the steps. “Mr. Storm--Mr. Storm--Jo--Joh----” But he was out on the pavement and getting into the workhouse van. “Ah!” said a mincing voice beside her. “How jolly it is when anybody is suffering for your sake!” It was Polly Love, and again her eyelids were half covering her eyes. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean,” said Glory. Her own eyes were swimming in big tear-drops. “Don't you? What a funny girl you are! But your education has been neglected, my dear.” It was a combination van and hearse with the coffin under the driver's box, and John Storm (as the only discoverable mourner) with the undertaker on the seat inside. “Will ye be willin' ter tyke the service at the cimitery, sir?” said the undertaker, and John answered that he would. The grave was on the paupers' side, and when the undertaker, with his man, had lowered the coffin to its place, he said, “They've gimme abart three more funerals this morning, so I'll leave ye now, sir, to finish 'er off.” At the next moment John Storm in his surplice was alone with the dead, and had opened his book to read the burial service which no other human ear was to hear. He read “Dust to dust, ashes to ashes,” and then the bitter loneliness of the pauper's doom came down on his soul and silenced him.