"I wished to hear of him, Gusta," Elizabeth said, trying by her tone to destroy the quality of her first question. "I spoke to Mr. Marriott about him--I’m sure he’ll get him off." Gusta made no reply, and Elizabeth saw that her tears were falling. [Illustration: Elizabeth saw that her tears were falling] "Come, Gusta," she said sympathetically, "you mustn’t feel bad." The girl suddenly looked at her, her eyes full of tears. "Oh, Miss Elizabeth," she said, "if you could only know! To see him down there--in that place! Such a thing never happened to us before!" "But I’m sure it’ll all come out right in the end--I’m sure of that. There must have been some mistake. Tell me all about it." And then Gusta told her the whole story. "You don’t know how it feels, Miss Elizabeth," she said when she had done, "to have your own brother--such a thing couldn’t happen to you--here." Gusta glanced about her, taking in at a glance, as it were, the large house, and all its luxury and refinement and riches, as if these things were insurmountable barriers to such misfortune and disgrace. Elizabeth saw the glance, and some way, suddenly, the light and warmth went out of the spring day for her. The two girls looked at each other a moment, then they looked away, and there was silence. Elizabeth’s brows were contracted; in her eyes there was a look of pain. When Gusta had gone Elizabeth went indoors, but her heart was heavy. She tried to throw off the feeling, but could not. She told herself that it was her imagination, always half morbid, but this did not satisfy her. She was silent at the luncheon-table until her mother said: "Elizabeth, what in the world ails you?" "Oh; nothing." "I know something does," insisted Mrs. Ward. Elizabeth, with her head inclined, was outlining with the prong of a fork the pattern on the salad bowl. "Gusta has been here, telling me her troubles." "Oh, that’s it, is it?" said Mrs. Ward. "You know her brother has been arrested." "What for?" "Stealing." "Indeed! Well! I do wish she’d keep away! I’m sure I don’t know what we’ve done that we should have such things brought into our house!" "But it’s too bad," said Elizabeth. "The young man--" "Yes, the young man! If he’d go to work and earn an honest living, he wouldn’t be arrested for stealing!" "I was just thinking--" Elizabeth finished the pattern on the salad bowl and inclined her head on the other side, as if she had really designed the pattern and were studying the effect of her finished work,--"that if Dick--" "Why, Elizabeth!" Mrs. Ward cried. "How can you say such a thing?" Elizabeth smiled, and the smile irritated her mother. "I’m sure it’s entirely different!" Mrs. Ward went on. "Dick does not belong to that class at all!" XIII