“Is it possible they can't stand that?” he said. “It's only because you've given such horrible details of poor Eva.” Gregory got up and paced the room. Mrs. Shortman went on “You've not lived in the country for so long, Mr. Vigil, that you don't remember. You see, I know. People don't like to be harrowed. Besides, think how difficult it is for them to imagine themselves in such a position. It'll only shock them, and do our circulation harm.” Gregory snatched up the page and handed it to the girl who sat at the typewriter in the corner. “Read that, please, Miss Mallow.” The girl read without raising her eyes. “Well, is it what Mrs. Shortman says?” The girl handed it back with a blush. “It's perfect, of course, in itself, but I think Mrs. Shortman is right. It might offend some people.” Gregory went quickly to the window, threw it up, and stood gazing at the sky. Both women looked at his back. Mrs. Shortman said gently: “I would only just alter it like this, from after 'country homes'. '.hether they do not pity and forgive this poor girl in a great city, without friends, without money, almost without clothes, and exposed to all the craft of one of those fiends in human form who prey upon our womankind,' and just stop there.” Gregory returned to the table. “Not 'forgive,'” he said, “not 'forgive'.” Mrs. Shortman raised her pen. “You don't know,” she said, “what a strong feeling there is. Mind, it has to go to numbers of parsonages, Mr. Vigil. Our principle has always been to be very careful. And you have been plainer than usual in stating the case. It's not as if they really could put themselves in her position; that's impossible. Not one woman in a hundred could, especially among those who live in the country and have never seen life. I'm a squire's daughter myself.” “And I a parson's,” said Gregory, with a smile. Mrs. Shortman looked at him reproachfully. “Joking apart, Mr. Vigil, it's touch and go with our paper as it is; we really can't afford it. I've had lots of letters lately complaining that we put the cases unnecessarily strongly. Here's one: “'BOURNEFIELD RECTORY, “'November 1. “'DEAR MADAM, “'While sympathising with your good work, I am afraid I cannot become a subscriber to your paper while it takes its present form, as I do not feel that it is always fit reading for my girls. I cannot think it either wise or right that they should become acquainted with such dreadful aspects of life, however true they may be. “'I am, dear madam, “'Respectfully yours, “'WINIFRED TUDDENHAM. “'P.S.--I could never feel sure, too, that my maids would not pick it up, and perhaps take harm.'. “I had that only this morning.” Gregory buried his face in his hands, and sitting thus he looked so like a man praying that no one spoke. When he raised his face it was to say: “Not 'forgive,' Mrs. Shortman, not 'forgive'.” Mrs. Shortman ran her pen through the word. “Very well, Mr. Vigil,” she said; “it's a risk.”