John stood for a moment feeling that there was something strained in the parallel--but not quite clever enough to perceive what it was. “Oh, as for that!” he said vaguely. Then he gave it up, the puzzle being too much for him. “And so would I,” he said, “do a great deal to please you, Letitia--but I can’t turn a man out of my house. If you have nothing more to say than that, I’ll go and tell those fellows about the birds.” Letitia sat clenching her hands to keep in her wrath until he had closed the door, and his heavy foot sounded remote and far off as he went down the stairs. She then turned to Mary, who had made several attempts to go away, but had been retained by a gesture more and more imperative at every move she made. “Mary, I hope you know how much you owe me,” she said. “You have been very--kind, Letitia--” said Mary faltering. “You’ve been no expense to your father and mother for a whole year, not even for dress--you know there’s not many friends would do that.” Mary hung her head and made no reply. She had not the courage to say that she had done something in return--scarcely even to think so, being very humble-minded--and yet--It was not generous to remind her so often of what was done for her, and the gratitude thus called for would not form itself into words. “Well, now, you must do something for me. You must get Ralph out of this house.” “I!” said Mary, in dismay. “Yes, you. He came for you. Don’t deny it, for I am sure of it. What else would have brought him here? He and I were never friends. He knew I wouldn’t have him at any price, but he thought that through you, as you were always his sweetheart----” “I never was anything to Ralph--never! He went away without so much as saying good-bye,” Mary said, with indignation. “That proves exactly what I say. If he had been nothing to you you would not have remembered that he went away without saying good-bye--you needn’t try to deceive me, Mary. Now, you must get him out of this house.” “Oh, Tisch!” said Mary, in forgetfulness of all injunctions. Their youth together and all its incidents came rushing back upon her mind. “Oh,” she said, “if you will remember, mother was kind to you then. Oh, don’t you remember how often you were all at the vicarage then? Oh, Letitia, I beg your pardon, I didn’t mean to say that, but don’t--don’t be so hard upon me now!” Letitia rose up with her eyes and her diamonds sending forth kindred gleams. “Do you dare to compare your mother’s kindness with mine,” she said. “What was it?--a bit of cake to a child--and I’ve taken all your expenses off them for a whole year. Where did you get that dress you are wearing, Mary Hill? Who is it that keeps a roof over your head and a fire in your room, and everything as comfortable as if you were a duke’s daughter? Your mother kind to me? I wonder you dare to look me in the face.”