“That is like Jarvis,” was Mr. Bentley’s comment.  “We will go there, together, after breakfast, if convenient for you,” he added.

“I hoped you would,” replied the rector.  “And I was going to ask you a favour.  I have a check, given me by a young lady to use at my discretion, and it occurred to me that Garvin might be willing to accept some proposal from you.”  He thought of Nan Ferguson, and of the hope he lead expressed of finding some one in Dalton Street.

“I have been considering the matter,” Mr. Bentley said.  “I have a friend who lives on the trolley line a little beyond the hospital, a widow.  It is like the country there, you know, and I think Mrs. Bledsoe could be induced to take the Garvins.  And then something can be arranged for him.  I will find an opportunity to speak to him this morning.”

Hodder sipped his coffee, and looked out at the morning-glories opening to the sun.

“Mrs. Garvin was alone last night.  He had gone out shortly after we left, and had not waited for the doctor.  She was greatly worried.”

Hodder found himself discussing these matters on which, an hour before, he had feared to permit his mind to dwell.  And presently, not without feeling, but in a manner eliminating all account of his personal emotions, he was relating that climactic episode of the woman at the piano.  The old gentleman listened intently, and in silence.

“Yes,” he said, when the rector had finished, “that is my observation.  Most of them are driven to the life, and held in it, of course, by a remorseless civilization.  Individuals may be culpable, Mr. Hodder—­are culpable.  But we cannot put the whole responsibility on individuals.”

“No,” Hodder assented, “I can see that now.”  He paused a moment, and as his mind dwelt upon the scene and he saw again the woman standing before him in bravado, the whole terrible meaning of her life and end flashed through him as one poignant sensation.  Her dauntless determination to accept the consequence of her acts, her willingness to look her future in the face, cried out to him in challenge.

“She refused unconditionally,” he said.

Mr. Bentley seemed to read his thought, divine his appeal.

“We must wait,” he answered.

“Do you think?—­” Hodder began, and stopped abruptly.

“I remember another case, somewhat similar,” said Mr. Bentley.  “This woman, too, had the spirit you describe—­we could do nothing with her.  We kept an eye on her—­or rather Sally Grover did—­she deserves credit —­and finally an occasion presented itself.”

“And the woman you speak of was—­rehabilitated?” Hodder asked.  He avoided the word “saved.”

“Yes, sir.  It was one of the fortunate cases.  There are others which are not so fortunate.”

Hodder nodded.

“We are beginning to recognize that we are dealing, in, many instances, with a disease,” Mr. Bentley went on.  “I am far from saying that it cannot be cured, but sometimes we are forced to admit that the cure is not within our power, Mr. Hodder.”