"Still in the blue _salon_, ma'am, I think," he replied. "Mr. Arthur Ranger just left a few moments ago." Clearing her surface of all traces of agitation, Mrs. Whitney went into the presence of her daughter. "Mamma!" cried Janet, starting up. "Has anything happened?" "Nothing, nothing, dear," replied her mother, kissing her tenderly. "I was afraid my letter might have miscarried. And, when I heard that Arthur had slipped away to Chicago, I came myself. I've brought you up so purely and innocently that I became alarmed lest he might lead you into some rash sentimentality. As I said in my letter, if Arthur had grown up into a strong, manly character, I should have been eager to trust my daughter to him. But my doubts about him were confirmed by the will. And--he is simply a fortune-hunter now." Janet had hidden her face in her handkerchief. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "You wrong him, mother." "You haven't encouraged him, Janet!" cried Mrs. Whitney. "After what I've been writing you?" "The loss of his money hasn't made any difference about him with me," said Janet, her pure, sweet face lighting up with the expression that made her mother half-ashamed of her own worldliness. "Of course not! Of course not, Janet," said she. "No child of mine could be mercenary without being utterly false to my teachings." Janet's expression was respectful, yet not confirmatory. She had often protested inwardly against the sordid views of life which her mother unconsciously held and veiled with scant decency in the family circle in her unguarded moments. But she had fought against the contamination, and proudly felt that her battle for the "higher plane" was successful. Her mother returned, somewhat awkwardly, to the main point. "I hope you didn't encourage him, Janet." "I don't wish to talk of it, mother," was Janet's reply. "I have not been well, and all this has upset me." Mrs. Whitney was gnawing her palms with her nails and her lip with her teeth. She could scarcely restrain herself from seizing her daughter and shaking the truth, whatever it was, out of her. But prudence and respect for her daughter's delicate soul restrained her. "You have made it doubly hard for me," Janet went on. "Your writing me to stay away because there was doubt about Arthur's material future--oh, mother, how could that make any difference? If I had not been feeling so done, and if father hadn't been looking to me to keep him company, I'd surely have gone. For I hate to have my motive misunderstood." "He has worked on her soft-heartedness and inexperience," thought Mrs. Whitney, in a panic. "And when Arthur came to-day," the girl continued, "I was ready to fly to him." She looked tragic. "And even when he repulsed me--" "_Repulsed_ you!" exclaimed Mrs. Whitney. She laughed disagreeably. "He's subtler than I thought." "Even when he repulsed me," pursued Janet, "with his sordid way of looking at everything, still I tried to cling to him, to shut my eyes."