Eleanor, who had just reseated herself, flashed an indignant look at him.  The young man saw it; but if the spirit of regeneration had worked upon him to a sufficient extent to make him properly sensitive to the looks and manners of estimable young women, he showed no sign of it at the moment.

“I am sure I wish you well in your effort,” said the judge’s wife; “and, if it is of any comfort to you, I promise that I will do all in my power to assist you.”

Then Eleanor’s eyes flashed again, as she said,—­

“Mother, the idea of father—­”

“Well?”

“The idea of father taking part in such work!”

“Do you know of any one, daughter, whose character more fully justifies him in doing so?  If you do, I shall not hesitate to ask Mr. Bartram to act as substitute until some one else can be found.”

Then Eleanor’s eyes took a very different expression, and she began to devote herself intensely to her sewing.

“If you are very sure,” said Bartram, “that your husband is not at home, I must seek him elsewhere, I suppose.  Good day!  Ah, I beg pardon.  I did not notice—­I was not aware that it was you, Miss Kimper.  I hope if you see your father to-day you will tell him that the good work that he began is progressing finely, and that you saw me in search to-day of Judge Prency to help him on with his efforts down at the church.”

And then, with another bow, Bartram left the room.

If poor Jane could have been conscious of the look that Eleanor bent upon her at that instant, she certainly would have been inclined to leave the room and never enter it again.  But she knew nothing of it, and the work went on amid oppressive silence.  Mrs. Prency had occasion to leave the room for an instant soon after, and Jane lifted her head and said,—­

“Who would have thought, Miss, that that young man was going to be so good, and all of a sudden, too?”

“He always was good,” said Eleanor, “that is, until now.”

“I’m sorry I mentioned it, ma’am, but I s’pose he won’t be as wild as he and some of the young men about this town have been.”

“What do you mean by wild?  Do you mean to say that he ever was wild in any way?”

“Oh, perhaps not,” said the unfortunate sewing-girl, wishing herself anywhere else as she tried to find some method of escaping from the unfortunate remark.

“What do you mean, then?  Tell me:  can’t you speak?”

“Oh, only you know, ma’am, some of the nicest young men in town come down to the hotel nights to chat, and they take a glass of wine once in a while, and smoke, and have a good time, and—­”