“It’s no use crying off,” said he; “you are one girl in a thousand, and I thank you, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.  It might have made awful trouble.  My aunt Lizzie told me what a commotion there was over it.”

“I ran away,” said Ellen, anxiously.  Suddenly it occurred to her he might think Cynthia worse than she had been.

“Never mind,” said Lloyd—­“never mind.  I know what you did.  You held your blessed little tongue to save somebody else, and let yourself be blamed.”

The door which led into the sitting-room opened, and Andrew looked in.

He made a shy motion when he saw Lloyd; still, he came forward.  His own callers had gone, and he had heard voices in the parlor, and had feared Granville Joy was calling upon Ellen.

As he came forward, Ellen introduced him shyly.  “This is Mr. Lloyd, father,” she said.  “Mr. Lloyd, this is my father.”  Then she added, “He came to bring back my valedictory.”  She was very awkward, but it was the charming awkwardness of a beautiful child.  She looked exceedingly childish standing beside her father, looking into his worn, embarrassed face.

Lloyd shook hands with Andrew, and said something about the valedictory, which he had enjoyed reading.

“She wrote it all herself without a bit of help from the teacher,” said Andrew, with wistful pride.

“It is remarkably well written,” said Robert.

“You didn’t hear it read at the hall?” said Andrew.

“No, I had not that good fortune.”

“You ought to have heard them clap,” said Andrew.

“Oh, father,” murmured Ellen, but she looked innocently at her father as if she delighted in his pride and pleasure without a personal consideration.

The front door opened.  “That’s your mother,” said Andrew.

Fanny looked into the lighted parlor, and dodged back with a little giggle.

Ellen colored painfully.  “It is Mr. Lloyd, mother,” she said.

Then Fanny came forward and shook hands with Robert.  Her face was flaming—­she cast involuntary glances at Andrew for confirmation of her opinion.  She was openly and shamelessly triumphant, and yet all at once Robert ceased to be repelled by it.  Through his insight into the girl’s character, he had seemed to gain suddenly a clearer vision for the depths of human love and pity which are beneath the coarse and the common.  When Fanny stood beside her daughter and looked at her, then at Robert, with the reflection of the beautiful young face in her eyes of love, she became at once pathetic and sacred.

“It is all natural,” he said to himself as he was going home.

Chapter XX