“And you fear that I may detract from the radiance of that future?  Is that it?”

“In plain English,” the worthy lady replied brutally, “it is.”

“I see your point of view very readily, Mrs. Daney.  Your apprehensions are ridiculous—­almost pathetic, Don McKaye’s great sympathy is alone responsible for his hardihood in noticing me, and he is so much too big for Port Agnew that it is no wonder his motives are misunderstood.  However, I am sorry his father is worried.  We have a very great respect for The Laird; indeed, we owe him a debt of gratitude, and there is nothing my father or I would not do to preserve his peace of mind.”

“The talk will die out, of course, unless something should occur to revive it, Miss Brent—­I mean, Nan.  But it would be just like Donald McKaye to start a revival of this gossip.  He doesn’t care a farthing for what people think or say, and he is too young to realize that one must pay some attention to public opinion.  You realize that, of course.”

“I ought to, Mrs. Daney.  I think I have had some experience of public opinion,” Nan replied sadly.

“Then, should Donald McKaye’s impulsive sympathy lead him to—­er—­”

“You mean that I am to discourage him in the event—­”

“Precisely, Miss Brent.  For his father’s sake.”

“Not to mention your husband’s position.  Precisely, Mrs. Daney.”

Mary Daney’s heart fluttered.

“I have trusted to your honor, Nan—­although I didn’t say so in the beginning—­not to mention my visit or this interview to a living soul.”

“My ‘honor!’” Nan’s low, bitter laugh raked the Daney nerves like a rasp.  “I think, Mrs. Daney, that I may be depended upon to follow my own inclinations in this matter.  I suspect you have been doing some talking yourself and may have gone too far, with the result that you are hastening now, by every means in your power, to undo whatever harm, real or fancied, has grown out of your lack of charity.”

“Nan, I beg of you—­”

“Don’t!  You have no right to beg anything of me.  I am not unintelligent and neither am I degraded.  I think I possess a far keener conception of my duty than do you or those whom you have elected to represent; hence I regard this visit as an unwarranted impertinence.  One word from me to Donald McKaye—­”

Terror smote the Samaritan.  She clasped her hands; her lips were pale and trembling.

“Oh, my dear, my dear,” she pleaded, “you wouldn’t breathe a word to him, would you?  Promise me you’ll say nothing.  How could I face my husband if—­if—­” She began to weep.

“I shall promise nothing,” Nan replied sternly.

“But I only came for his father’s sake, you cruel girl!”

“Perhaps his father’s case is safer in my hands than in yours, Mrs. Daney, and safest of all in those of his son.”

The outcast of Port Agnew rose, filled her apron with the driftwood she had gathered, and called to her child.  As the little fellow approached, Mrs. Daney so far forgot her perturbation as to look at him keenly and decide, eventually, that he bore not the faintest resemblance to Donald McKaye.