"My name is Dunham, Miss Lacey," he said, meeting the blue eyes where the fire had burned out, showing the face so white, so young. "This is in the day's work for me, and I'm sorry. I am in Judge Trent's office, and he sent me here with your aunt to represent him." "My aunt saved a lot of time," rejoined the girl slowly, speaking low. "She represented them both while I stood there behind the curtain." Her hands pressed together, and she looked again from one to the other. "There isn't anything for you to stay for now, is there?" she added, after a painful silence. "Why, of course there is!" exclaimed Miss Martha. "We haven't made any plan at all." "What plan had you thought of making?" Miss Martha cleared her throat and looked up at Dunham. "I--we--wanted to ask what your plans were." "They're nothing to you, I'm sure," returned the girl. "Why, they're a great deal to us. You mustn't think Judge Trent and I don't feel any responsibility of you. We _do_." The girl's lips quivered into something that tried to be a smile. "How did you intend to show it before--before you came in here this morning?" "Why, we"--Miss Martha cleared her throat again, "we--feel sure, of course, that--unless your father left you money you--you will want to find something to do, and we intend to help you find it." Sylvia looked like a pale flower as she stood there. There rose in Dunham the involuntary desire to protect that any man who saw her would have felt. "And to pay your expenses until you do find it," he added hastily. "That is Judge Trent's idea," he declared, in a recklessly encouraging tone. "To pay your expenses so long as you need it." The girl's quivering smile grew steadier. Her pride stiffened under this man's regard. "Where?" she asked, with self-possession. "Not at the Touraine, probably." It was like a downward jerk on a balloon. Dunham suddenly remembered the memoranda and his employer's shaggy gaze. "At the Young Women's Christian Association," he replied apologetically. The girl laughed. "I don't like the sound of it," she said. "Is it some sort of reformatory?" "It is not," replied Miss Martha warmly. "That is a very good idea of your uncle's. I hadn't heard of it. It is a very generous and proper arrangement," with growing conviction. "Boston is dreadfully overcrowded, and you'd have probably done better in Springfield, whatever it's like; but I'll stay with you now,"--Miss Martha began taking off her gloves nervously,--"and help you pack up and take you over to the Association, and see you settled. The superintendent can no doubt help you to find something to do, and perhaps everything will be all right, after all." Sylvia Lacey stretched out her hand. "Put those gloves on again, Aunt Martha. Your duty to me is done. You and Mr. Dunham can go home now." Miss Martha's eyes snapped behind her glasses. "What do you mean? What are you going to do, then?"