“Well, I have been thinking over the number of pupils of both sexes in the school who can be called degenerates, either in mind or morals, and I must say I was alarmed.”

“Well, what is to be done?” asked Harry, moodily.  “Maria must go to school, of course.”

“Yes, of course, Maria must have a good education, as good as if her own mother had lived.”

“Well, what is to be done, then?”

Then Ida came straight to the point.  “The only way I can see is to remove her from doubtful associates.”

“Remove her?” repeated Harry, blankly.

“Yes; send her away to school.  Wellbridge Hall, in Emerson, where I went myself, would be a very good school.  It is not expensive.”

Harry stared.  “But, Ida, she is too young.”

“Not at all.”

“You were older when you went there.”

“A little older.”

“How far is Emerson from here?”

“Only a night’s journey from New York.  You go to sleep in your berth, and in the morning you are there.  You could always see her off.  It is very easy.”

“Send Maria away!  Ida, it is out of the question.  Aside from anything else, there is the expense.  I am living up to my income as it is.”

“Oh,” said Ida—­she gave her head a noble toss, and spoke impressively—­“I am prepared to go without myself to make it possible for you to meet her bills.  You know I spoke the other day of a new lace dress.  Well, that would cost at least a hundred; I will go without that.  And I wanted some new portieres for my room; I will go without them.  That means, say, fifty more.  And you know the dining-room rug looks very shabby.  I was thinking we must have an Eastern rug, which would cost at least one hundred and fifty; I thought it would pay in the end.  Well, I am prepared to give that up and have a domestic, which only costs twenty-five; that is a hundred and twenty-five more saved.  And I had planned to have my seal-skin coat made over after Christmas, and you know you cannot have seal-skin touched under a hundred; there is a hundred more.  There are three hundred and seventy-five saved, which will pay for Maria’s tuition for a year, and enough over for travelling expenses.”  Nothing could have exceeded the expression of lofty virtue of Ida Edgham when she concluded her speech.  As for her own selfish considerations, those, as always, she thought of only as her duty.  Ida established always a clear case of conscience in all her dealings for her own interests.

But Harry continued to frown.  The childish droop of his handsome mouth became more pronounced.  “I don’t like the idea,” he said, quite sturdily for him.

“Suppose we leave it to Maria,” said Ida.

“I really think,” said Harry, in almost a fretful tone, “that you exaggerate.  I hardly think there is anything so very objectionable about her associates here.  I will admit that many of the children come from what we call the poor whites, but after all their main vice is shiftlessness, and Maria is not very likely to become contaminated with that.”