“You ain’t said much,” Mrs. Burrell began, “but I can just _feel_ what you think. You think I ain’t done right. Oh, don’t! I know just how you feel. You think I’ve been throwing that girl in temptation’s way. But I guess I know Carrie Cora better’n anyone else. And Rufus James is an honorable young man. He’s always had a good reputation in Auburn. Oh, dear!” The tears ran down her withered cheeks. “I’d like to go home,” she said to Helen. “I don’t feel a bit well. Perhaps my husband will be home. I want to have a talk with him.” Helen spoke to the driver and they turned back toward the city. “I’m an awful fool,” Mrs. Burrell went on. “And don’t you go and blame yourself for anything I’ve said or done. I’ve known all along that I wasn’t doin’ right, but it was just that pride of mine kept me from acknowledgin’ it.” She dried her eyes and sank back in the seat. Suddenly she sat bolt upright. “D’you suppose Rufus James would come to dinner to-night if I asked him?” she said. X Helen Briggs felt uncomfortable on leaving Mrs. Burrell. It was true that she had not introduced the subject of Carrie Cora’s love affair, but her conscience troubled her, nevertheless. She did not like interfering in other people’s business. However, victory had probably been won for the girl, unless something should change her mother’s mind. A resentful word, a disagreeable look on Carrie Cora’s part, might shatter the possibility of a lifetime of happiness. On the other hand, Helen argued, Mrs. Burrell might have been justified in opposing her daughter. In spite of her own experience, Helen had grown sceptical with regard to marriage. Many marriages among her friends had begun with every promise of happiness and had been either disappointments or complete failures. So often, she had observed, love seemed to be only an expression of egotism, that soon betrayed itself in selfishness or resentment or bitterness. On reaching home Helen found the house deserted save by the servants. On the way she had observed the plain and patient Miss Munroe with the children in the Park. She went into the library to get something to read, and her eye fell on the black scrapbooks. Without realizing that she had for hours been resisting the temptation to examine them, she quickly drew one out from the shelf and placed it on her husband’s desk. It happened to be the newest, and it was only half-filled with newspaper clippings. With a nervous impulse she placed it back on the shelf and took the volume at the opposite end of the row. On the fly-leaf she read, in her husband’s handwriting: “My first speeches in Congress.” Most of these had been clipped from the Congressional reports, and many of them she had read. She turned the pages quickly, stopping here and there to read a personal paragraph of praise or criticism. One paragraph contained this statement: