“But that wasn’t my proposal.”

“I know it, ma’am.  I honor you for your kindness; but I can’t risk what—­ what might be another person’s idea of duty about Richards.  Our consciences ain’t all equally enlightened, you know.”

Miss Brown did not answer a word.

They drove along the streets where the lanterns were fading.  Tim grew uneasy, she was silent so long.  On the brow of the hill she indicated a side street and told them to stop the horse before a little brown house.  One of the windows was a dim square of red.

“It isn’t quite so lonesome coming home to a light,” said Miss Brown.

As Nelson cramped the wheel to jump out to help her from the vehicle, the light from the electric arc fell full on his handsome face and showed her the look of compassion and admiration, there.

“Wait one moment,” she said, detaining him with one firm hand.  “I’ve got something to say to you.  Let Richards go for the present; all I ask of you about him is that you will do nothing until we can find out if he is so bad off.  But, Mr. Forrest, I can do better for you about that mortgage.  Mr. Lossing will take it for three years for a relative of his and pay me the money.  I told him the story.”

“And you will get the money all right?”

“Just the same.  I was only trying to help you a little by the other way, and I failed.  Never mind.”

“I can’t tell you how you make me feel,” said Nelson.

“Please let him bring you some melons to-morrow and make a stagger at it, though,” said Tim.

“Can I?” Nelson’s eyes shone.

“If you want to,” said Miss Brown.  She laughed; but in a moment she smiled.

All the way home Nelson saw the same face of Failure between the old mare’s white ears; but its grim lineaments were softened by a smile, a smile like Miss Brown’s.

TOMMY AND THOMAS

It was while Harry Lossing was at the High School that Mrs. Carriswood first saw Tommy Fitzmaurice.  He was not much to see, a long lad of sixteen who had outgrown his jackets and was not yet grown to his ears.

At this period Mrs. Fitzmaurice was his barber, and she, having been too rash with the shears in one place, had snipped off the rest of his curly black locks “to match;” until he showed a perfect convict’s poll, giving his ears all the better chance, and bringing out the rather square contour of his jaws to advantage.  He had the true Irish-Norman face; a skin of fine texture, fair and freckled, high cheekbones, straight nose, and wide blue eyes that looked to be drawn with ink, because of their sharply pencilled brows and long, thick, black lashes.  But the feature that Mrs. Carriswood noticed was Tommy’s mouth, a flexible and delicately cut mouth, of which the lips moved lightly in speaking and seldom were quite in repose.

“The genuine Irish orator’s mouth,” thought Mrs. Carriswood.