"She wants to have him told all about Bittridge."After a momentary revolt the judge said, "Well, that's right. It's like Ellen.""There's something else that's more like her," said Mrs. Kenton, indignantly. "She wants him to told about what Bittridge did that night --about him kissing her."The judge looked disgusted with his wife for the word; then he looked aghast. "About--""Yes, and she won't have a word to say to him till he is told, and unless he is told she will refuse him.""Did she say that?"

"No, but I know she will."

"If she didn't say she would, I think we may take the chances that she won't.""No, we mustn't take any such chances. You must tell him.""I? No, I couldn't manage it. I have no tact, and it would sound so confoundedly queer, coming from one man to another. It would be--indelicate. It's something that nobody but a woman-- Why doesn't she tell him herself?""She won't. She considers it our part, and something we ought to do before he commits himself.""Very well, then, Sarah, you must tell him. You can manage it so it won't by so--queer.

"That is just what I supposed you would say, Mr. Kenton, but I must say Ididn't expect it of you. I think it's cowardly.""Look out, Sarah! I don't like that word."

"Oh, I suppose you're brave enough when it comes to any kind of danger.

But when it comes to taking the brunt of anything unpleasant--""It isn't unpleasant--it's queer."

"Why do you keep saying that over and over? There's nothing queer about it. It's Ellenish but isn't it right?""It's right, yes, I suppose. But it's squeamish.""I see nothing squeamish about it. But I know you're determined to leave it to me, and so I shall do it. I don't believe Mr. Breckon will think it's queer or squeamish.""I've no doubt he'll take it in the right way; you'll know how to--"Kenton looked into his hat, which he had taken off and then put it on again. His tone and his manner were sufficiently sneaking, and he could not make them otherwise. It was for this reason, no doubt, that he would not prolong the interview.

"Oh yes, go!" said Mrs. Kenton, as he found himself with his hand on the door. "Leave it all to me, do!" and he was aware of skulking out of the room. By the time that it would have taken him so long as to walk to the top of the grand stairway he was back again. "He's coming!" he said, breathlessly. "I saw him at the bottom of the stairs. Go into your room and wash your eyes. I'LL tell him.""No, no, Rufus! Let me! It will be much better. You'll be sure to bungle it.""We must risk that. You were quite right, Sarah. It would have been cowardly in me to let you do it.""Rufus! You know I didn't mean it! Surely you're not resenting that?""No. I'm glad you made me see it. You're all right, Sarah, and you'll find that it will all come out all right. You needn't be afraid I'll bungle it. I shall use discretion. Go--""I shall not stir a step from this parlor! You've got back all your spirit, dear," said the old wife, with young pride in her husband.

"But I must say that Ellen is putting more upon you than she has any right to. I think she might tell him herself.""No, it's our business--my business. We allowed her to get in for it.

She's quite right about it. We must not let him commit himself to her till he knows the thing that most puts her to shame. It isn't enough for us to say that it was really no shame. She feels that it casts a sort of stain--you know what I mean, Sarah, and I believe I can make this young man know. If I can't, so much the worse for him. He shall never see Ellen again.""Oh, Rufus!"

"Do you think he would be worthy of her if he couldn't?""I think Ellen is perfectly ridiculous."

"Then that shows that I am right in deciding not to leave this thing to you. I feel as she does about it, and I intend that he shall.""Do you intend to let her run the chance of losing him?""That is what I intend to do."