“Since Peter is so altruistic, let him hire a nurse.” Bad as things were, Harmony smiled. “A nurse!” she said. “Why, do you realize that he is keeping three people now on what is starvation for one?” “Then he's a fool!” Mrs. Boyer rose in majesty. “I'm not going to leave you here.” “I'm sorry. You must see--” “I see nothing but a girl deliberately putting herself in a compromising portion and worse.” “Mrs. Boyer!” “Get your things on. I guess Dr. Boyer and I can look after you until we can send you home.” “I am not going home--yet,” said poor Harmony, biting her lip to steady it. Back and forth waged the battle, Mrs. Boyer assailing, Harmony offering little defense but standing firm on her refusal to go as long as Peter would let her remain. “It means so much to me,” she ventured, goaded. “And I earn my lodging and board. I work hard and--I make him comfortable. It costs him very little and I give him something in exchange. All men are not alike. If the sort you have known are--are different--” This was unfortunate. Mrs. Boyer stiffened. She ceased offensive tactics, and retired grimly into the dignity of her high calling of virtuous wife and mother. She washed her hands of Harmony and Peter. She tied on her veil with shaking hands, and prepared to leave Harmony to her fate. “Give me your mother's address,” she demanded. “Certainly not.” “You absolutely refuse to save yourself?” “From what? From Peter? There are many worse people than Peter to save myself from, Mrs. Boyer--uncharitable people, and--and cruel people.” Mrs. Boyer shrugged her plump shoulders. “Meaning me!” she retorted. “My dear child, people are always cruel who try to save us from ourselves.” Unluckily for Harmony, one of Anna's specious arguments must pop into her head at that instant and demand expression. “People are living their own lives these days, Mrs. Boyer; old standards have gone. It is what one's conscience condemns that is wrong, isn't it? Not merely breaking laws that were made to fit the average, not the exception.” Anna! Anna! Mrs. Boyer flung up her hands. “You are impossible!” she snapped. “After all, I believe it is Peter who needs protection! I shall speak to him.” She started down the staircase, but turned for a parting volley. “And just a word of advice: Perhaps the old standards have gone. But if you really expect to find a respectable woman to chaperon YOU, keep your views to yourself.” Harmony, a bruised and wounded thing, crept into Jimmy's room and sank on her knees beside the bed. One small hand lay on the coverlet; she dared not touch it for fear of waking him--but she laid her cheek close to it for comfort. When Peter came in, much later, he found the boy wide awake and Harmony asleep, a crumpled heap beside the bed. “I think she's been crying,” Jimmy whispered. “She's been sobbing in her sleep. And strike a match, Peter; there may be more mice.” CHAPTER XVIII