LITMIR.BIZ

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      John Storm wrote a letter to Mrs. Callender explaining Polly Love's situation and asking her to call on the girl immediately, and then he went out in search of Lord Robert Ure at the address he had discovered in the report.

      He found the man alone on his arrival, but Drake came in soon afterward. Lord Robert received him with a chilly bow; Drake offered his hand coldly; neither of them requested him to sit.

      “You are surprised at my visit, gentlemen,” said John, “but I have just now been present at a painful scene, and I thought it necessary that you should know something about it.”

      Then he described what had occurred in the board room, and in doing so dwelt chiefly on the abjectness of the girl's humiliation. Lord Robert stood by the window rapping a tune on the window pane, and Drake sat in a low chair with his legs stretched out and his hands in his trousers pockets.

      “But I am at a loss to understand why you have thought it necessary to come here to tell that story,” said Lord Robert.

      “Lord Robert,” said John, “you understand me perfectly.”

      “Excuse me, Mr. Storm, I do not understand you in the least.”

      “Then I will not ask you if you are responsible for the girl's position.”

      “Don't.”

      “But I will ask you a simpler and easier question.”

      “What is it?”

      “When are you going to marry her?”

      Lord Robert burst into ironical laughter and faced round to Drake.

      “Well, these men—these curates—their assurance, don't you know … May I ask your reverence what is your position in this matter—your standing, don't you know?”

      “That of chaplain of the hospital.”

      “But you say she has been, turned out of it.”

      “Very well, Lord Robert, merely that of a man who intends to protect an injured woman.”

      “Oh, I know,” said Lord Robert dryly, “I understand these heroics. I've heard of your sermons, Mr. Storm—your interviews with ladies, and so forth.”

      “And I have heard of your doings with girls,” said John. “What are you going to do for this one?”

      “Exactly what I please.”

      “Take care! You know what the girl is. It's precisely such girls—— At this moment she is tottering on the brink of hell, Lord Robert. If anything further should happen—if you should disappoint her—she is looking to you and building up hopes—if she should fall still lower and destroy herself body and soul——”

      “My dear Mr. Storm, please understand that I shall do everything or nothing for the girl exactly as I think well, don't you know, without the counsel or coercion of any clergyman.”

      There was a short silence, and then John Storm said quietly: “It is no worse than I expected. But I had to hear it from your own lips, and I have heard it. Good-day.”

      He went back to the hospital and asked for Glory. She was banished with Polly to the housekeeper's room. Polly was catching flies on the window (which overlooked the park) and humming, “Sigh no more, ladies.” Glory's eyes were red with weeping. John drew Glory aside.

      “I have written to Mrs. Callender, and she will be here presently,” he said.

      “It is useless,” said Glory. “Polly will refuse to go. She expects Lord Robert to come for her, and she wants me to call on Mr. Drake.”

      “But I have seen the man myself.”

      “Lord Robert?”

      “Yes. He will do nothing.”

      “Nothing!”

      “Nothing, or worse than nothing.”

      “Impossible!”

      “Nothing of that kind is impossible to men like those.”

      “They are not so bad as that though, and even if Lord Robert is all you say, Mr. Drake——”

      “They are friends and housemates, Glory, and what the one is the other must be also.”

      “Oh, no. Mr. Drake is quite a different person.”

      “Don't be misled, my child. If there were any real difference between them——”

      “But there is; and if a girl were in trouble or wanted help in anything——”

      “He would drop her, Glory, like an old lottery ticket that has drawn a blank and is done for.”

      She was biting her lip, and it was bleeding slightly.

      “You dislike Mr. Drake,” she said, “and that is why you can not be just to him. But he is always praising and excusing you, and when any one——”

      “His praises and excuses are nothing to me. I am not thinking of myself. I am thinking——”

      He had a look of intense excitement, and his speaking was abrupt and disconnected.

      “You were splendid this morning, Glory, and when I think of the girl who defied that Pharisee, being perhaps herself the victim—The man asked me what my standing was, as if that—But if I had really had a right, if the girl had been anything to me, if she had been somebody else and not a light, shallow, worthless creature, do you know what I should have said to him? 'Since things have gone so far, sir, you must marry the girl now, and keep to her and be faithful to her, and love her, or else I——”

      “You are flushed and excited, and there is something I do not understand——”

      “Promise me, Glory, that you will break off this bad connection.”

      “You are unreasonable. I can not promise.”

      “Promise that you will never see these men again.”

      “But I must see Mr. Drake at once and arrange about Polly.”

      “Don't mention the man's name again; it makes my blood boil to hear you speak it!”

      “But this is tyranny; and you are worse than the canon; and I can not bear it.”

      “Very well; as you will. It's of no use struggling—What is the time?”

      “Six o'clock nearly.”

      “I must see the canon before he goes to dinner.”

      His manner had changed suddenly. He looked crushed and benumbed.

      “I am going now.” he said, turning aside.

      “So soon? When shall I see you again?”

      “God knows!—I mean—I don't know,” he answered in a helpless way.

      He was looking around, as if taking a mental farewell of everything.

      “But we can not part like this,” she said. “I think you like me a little still, and——”

      Her supplicating voice made him look up into her face for a moment. Then he turned away, saying, “Good-bye, Glory.” And with a look of utter exhaustion he went out of the room.

      Glory walked to a window at the end of the corridor that she might see him when he crossed the street. There was just a glimpse of his back as he turned the corner with a slow step and his head on his breast. She went back crying.

      “I could fancy a

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