During the swift second of time which intervened between that sentence and her reply Ester had three hard things to endure—­a sting from her restless conscience, a look of mingled pain and anxiety from Mr. Foster, and one of open-eyed and mischievous surprise from Ralph.  Then she spoke rapidly and earnestly.  “Indeed, Uncle Ralph, I beg you will not judge of any other person by my conduct in this matter.  I am very sorry, and very much ashamed that I have been so weak and wicked.  I think just as Abbie does, only I am not like her, and have been tempted to do wrong, for fear you would think me foolish.”

No one but Ester knew how much these sentences cost her; but the swift, bright look telegraphed her from Abbie’s eyes seemed to repay her.

Ralph laughed outright.  “Four against one,” he said gaily.  “I’ve gone over to the enemy’s side myself, you see, on account of the pressure.  Father, I advise you to yield while you can do it gracefully, and also to save me the trouble of smashing the aforesaid bottles.”

“But,” persisted Mr. Ried, “I haven’t heard an argument this evening.  What is there so shocking in a quiet glass of wine enjoyed with a select gathering of one’s friends?”

John now presented himself at the door with a respectful, “If you please, sir, there is a person in the hall who persists in seeing Mr. Foster.”

“Show him in, then,” was Mr. Ried’s prompt reply.

John hesitated, and then added:  “He is a very common looking person, sir, and—­”

“I said show him in, I believe,” interrupted the gentleman of the house, in a tone which plainly indicated that he was expending on John the irritation which he did not like to bestow further, on either his children or his guests.

John vanished, and Mr. Ried added:  “You can take your friend into the library, Mr. Foster, if it proves to be a private matter.”

There was a marked emphasis on the word friend in this sentence; but Mr. Foster only bowed his reply, and presently John returned, ushering in a short, stout man, dressed in a rough working suit, twirling his hat in his hand, and looking extremely embarrassed and out of place in the elegant parlor.  Mr. Foster turned toward him immediately, and gave him a greeting both prompt and cordial.  “Ah, Mr. Jones, good evening.  I have been in search of you today, but some way managed to miss you.”

At this point Abbie advanced and placed a small white hand in Mr. Jones’ great hard brown one, as she repeated the friendly greeting, and inquired at once:  “How is Sallie, to-night, Mr. Jones?”

“Well, ma’am, it is about her that I’m come, and I beg your pardon, sir (turning to Mr. Foster), for making so bold as to come up here after you; but she is just that bad to-night that I could not find it in me to deny her any thing, and she is in a real taking to see you.  She has sighed and cried about it most of this day, and to-night we felt, her mother and me, that we couldn’t stand it any longer, and I said I’d not come home till I found you and told you how much she wanted to see you.  It’s asking a good deal, sir, but she is going fast, she is; and—­” Here Mr. Jones’ voice choked, and he rubbed his hard hand across his eyes.