Miss Ada was fluttered at the call. “Honey, this is _very_ good of you,” she blushed girlishly. “Glen appreciates your thoughtfulness. I know I may speak for her!” She laid an admonitory hand on her charge’s arm. “It is ... very kind,” Glen managed obediently. “And won’t you step in for a moment, Nancy, my dear? I’m just going to make Glen a cup of strong tea, and she’d be so pleased--we _both_ would--” Miss Ada quite clearly thought that grief, at any rate, grief for a person of Dr. Darrow’s caliber, might well be laid aside for the amenities of life when a Carey came to call. The girl from The Hill was regarding the young mountaineer with mild interest. “Oh, thanks, Cousin Ada,” she said, turning to her--Miss Ada was a connection by marriage in two or three directions--“but I just came to bring the roses and tell Glen how _sorry_-- Auntie Lou-May is waiting for me.” “Then I’ll walk back with you a piece,” Miss Ada slipped her arm through Nancy’s. “And how _is_ your dear Auntie Lou-May? Is her sciatica better?--Glen, my dear, I’ll be back immediately.” “Not much better, poor dear,” Nancy answered prettily. “But she’s such an angel about it, and I don’t like to keep her waiting when I’ve promised to play cribbage with her.” “Of course _not_!” assented the connection warmly. “I’m sorry you couldn’t stop, but it was just wonderful for you to think of coming!” “Glen Darrow is a nice girl,” said Nancy vaguely. “I always liked her, some way ... and felt sorry for her....” “Well, so do I, honey, and that’s why I’m staying with her until she can make some suitable arrangement. It just seems to be my _part_ to look after the poor child, alone as she is. Glen has a remarkably fine character, _innately_ refined,” said Miss Ada, as she had said of her Simpson mother. “So _pitifully_ alone, and almost _wholly_ unprovided for----” “Who was that boy, Cousin Ada?” Nancy interrupted gently. “Why--why--that is--that isn’t _anybody_, you might say, my dear. He is a young lad from the mountain districts to whom Dr. Darrow took one of his odd fancies. A very peculiar person, Dr. Darrow, and I pray his standards will not affect Glen’s life too seriously. He always----” “Does he live in the mountains now, Cousin Ada?” “Why, no, not just now--not at present, that is. He is employed at your dear father’s mill in some small capacity, I believe.” “Oh ... at the mill....” “Yes. Dr. Darrow took him there, several years ago, and begged employment for him, and your dear father, I understand from Glen, has been especially kind to him. Your father had a high respect for Dr. Darrow, who did a great deal of quiet charity among the mill workers. But the doctor, unfortunately, had no social standards whatever, and that one must always deplore, and now that he is gone I shall try to guide poor Glen-- This impossible friendship, for instance----” “What is his name?”