But some one suggested that perhaps the nurse had a girl friend in the hospital who could throw light on the difficult situation. Then Sister Allworthy whispered to the matron, who said, “Bring her in.” John Storm's face had assumed a fixed and absent expression, but he saw a girl of larger size than Polly Love enter the room with a gleam, as it were, of sunshine on her golden-red hair. It was Glory. There was some preliminary whispering, and then the canon began again: “You are a friend and companion of Mary Elizabeth Love?” “Yes,” said Glory. Her voice was full and calm, and a look of quiet courage lit up her girlish beauty. “You have known her other friends, no doubt, and perhaps you have shared her confidence?” “I think so.” “Then you can tell the board if the unhappy condition in which she finds herself is due to any one connected with this hospital.” “I think not.” “Not to any officer, servant, or member of any school attached to it?” “No.” “Thank you,” said the chairman, “that is quite enough,” and down the tables of the governors there were nods and smiles of satisfaction. “What have I done?” said Glory. “You have done a great service to an ancient and honourable institution,” said the canon, “and the best return the board can make for your candour and intelligence is to advise you to avoid such companionship for the future and to flee such perilous associations.” A certain desperate recklessness expressed itself in Glory's face, and she stepped up to Polly, who was now weeping audibly, and put her arm about the girl's waist. “What are the girl's relatives?” said the chairman. The matron replied out of her book. Polly was an orphan, both her parents being dead. She had a brother who had lately been a patient in the hospital, but he was only a lay-helper in the Anglican Monastery at Bishopsgate Street, and therefore useless for present purposes. There was some further whispering about the tables. Was this the girl who had been recommended to the hospital by the coroner who had investigated a certain notorious and tragic case? Yes. “I think I have heard of some poor and low relations,” said the canon, “but their own condition is probably too needy to allow them to help her at a time like the present.” Down to this moment Polly had done nothing but cry, but now she flamed up in a passion of pride and resentment. “It's false!” she cried. “I have no poor and low relations, and I want nobody's help. My friend is a gentleman--as much a gentleman as anybody here--and I can tell you his name, if you like. He lives in St. James's Street, and he is Lord----” “Stop, girl!” said the canon, in a loud voice. “We can not allow you to compromise the honour of a gentleman by mentioning his name in his absence.” John stepped to one of the tables of the governors and took up a pamphlet which lay there. It was the last annual report of Martha's Vineyard, with a list of its governors and subscribers.