"I should think not, if it is for that man," said Bessie defiantly, "and the sooner he goes away the better. We were all as glad as could be when Anthony put a stop to his horrid plans." But Winifred asked no more questions. Perhaps there had come to her already, through the patient teaching of life, perceptions of a broader, kindlier horizon than used to bound her view. Perhaps she saw dimly what once seen can no more cease to grow upon our sight than the daylight which from the first eastern flush grows into the glory of the great day, that the blessed good in our fellow-man is that which we must look for, and help, and nourish; that so best wrong may be made right, and evil conquered, and weakness strengthened. Bessie was not satisfied. "What did he mean?" she said in the drawing-room, nestling against Mrs Orde, of whom she was fond by fits and starts. "What did Frank think that I should never give?" "I suppose he was talking about sympathy, my dear," said Mrs Orde, dryly. She was a kind-hearted woman herself, but a little timid over other people's kind-heartedness. I am not certain that she did not consider it a dangerous doctrine, at any rate for young men. "He had no business to say so," Bessie replied petulantly. "I am sure I am as sorry as can be when any one is ill or anything. No sympathy, indeed! What does he know about it?" "What do you know about it," Mrs Orde said decidedly, "a young thing like you? Frank was quite right. Go and play that sonata: I don't believe you have practised it at all, and your lesson is to-morrow." "There's a ring," Bessie announced, going slowly. "It must be Anthony, for no one else comes at this time of night."