“Why so tragic, Fanny? Paddock asked me to come and see him and his good works--I went; he insisted that I look at his kitchen and there was your girl with the adorable head dutifully wiping the dishes--a pretty picture! Paddock was going to take her and a friend into town on the trolley, but the hour was late and I took them home in my car--she and the other girl inside, poor old me decorously out in the cold. Then I went to see how much Wagner the dear people were swallowing at popular prices this afternoon; went into the balcony to look for Dick, and lo! the adorable head was just in front of me. But no, I did not let her see me; I knew she would lose faith in me if she thought I was pursuing her; I went about my business, but on my way out ran into her again. What could be more natural than that I should walk to my sister’s house with her?” “You must have known she was going to the settlement house; it’s a little hard to accept so many coincidences. And I had asked you to let her alone.” “Paddock invited me to visit him; she and her friend were cleaning up the dishes. It was her first visit, too.” “So you took her home in your car? You did that?” “And her friend with her. Joe is a kind of usher and policeman at the settlement house. Paddock seems to be gathering in all sorts and conditions--even me!” “Joe!” exclaimed Mrs. Blair with more animation; and then: “You must get rid of that fellow. I don’t like him.” Mrs. Blair spoke with so much energy that Wayne laughed aloud. “Why, Fanny, Joe has saved my life many times. He’s been so miserable when I went bad that I’ve been ashamed to face him.” Mrs. Blair relapsed into silence, and he saw by the flashes of the electric lamps at the corners that she was seriously troubled. “You know without my telling you that you must let this girl alone. These chance meetings won’t occur again--if they _have_ been chance meetings!” “I swear it, Fanny!” “She’s terribly poor; she has ambitions, and I’m trying to help her. She’s utterly unsophisticated, as you can see; you will ruin her future and make her wretchedly unhappy if you don’t avoid her.” “When do you think a man can begin to be good? Do you think I am so utterly rotten that no decent women may ever dare know me? Come now, Fanny.” “There are plenty of girls you can know if you want to--who don’t live in boarding houses and starve their way through art schools.” “But they haven’t her eyes; they don’t carry their heads like goddesses,” he persisted. “You’ve seen too many eyes in too many divine heads. I tell you, it won’t do! If you will think of it a minute you will see that only a word is enough to wreck that girl’s life. Do you suppose you can call on her at her boarding house? Are you going to walk with her to her lessons? Do you quite see yourself taking her to concerts and to church Sunday mornings? My big brother, if you don’t stop being preposterous I shall get angry.”