necessarily unscrupulous. But that is why the rest of us should hold them in check."
"It's merely an assumption, that she would fall in love with him," Mrs. Daintry continued, with a certain majesty; "there is nothing to prove it, and I am not bound to take it for granted."
"In other words, you don't care if she should! Precisely; that, I suppose, is your rôle. I am glad I haven't any children; it's very sophisticating. For so good a woman, you are very bad. Yes, you are good, Susan; and you are bad."
"I don't know that I pretend to be particularly good," Susan remarked, with the warmth of one who had known something of the burden of such a reputation, as she moved toward the door.
"You have a conscience, and it will wake up," her companion returned. "It will come over you in the watches of the night that your idea was—as I have said—immoral."
Mrs. Daintry paused in the hall, and stood there looking at Lucretia. It was just possible that she was being laughed at, for Lucretia's deepest mirth was sometimes silent,—that is, one heard the laughter several days later. Suddenly she colored to the roots of her hair, as if the conviction of her error had come over her. Was it possible she had been corrupted by an affection in itself so pure? "I only want to do right," she said, softly. "I would rather he should never come home, than that I should go too far."
She was turning away, but her sister-in-law held
