“You misjudge him utterly,” cried Belle in a passion. “and you have just driven away the one friend that I had in all the world.  I won’t stand it.  I’m not a baby, and I won’t be treated like one.”

Roger let her storm on without a word, but at last, when she concluded, “I’ve no father worthy of the name, and so I’ll take care of myself,” he asked quietly: 

“How about your mother, Belle?”

In strong revulsion the impulsive girl gave way to an equally passionate outburst of grief.  “Oh,” she cried, “I wish I were dead!”

“Belle,” said Roger, very gently now, “if you listened to that fellow you would soon make that wish in earnest.  Now in your heart you don’t mean it at all.  You don’t love such a man, and you know it.  Why should you throw your young, beautiful life into the gutter?  It is a mere reckless protest against your unhappy life.  Belle, you are not seventeen, and you may live till you are seventy if you take care of yourself.  Think of the changes for the better that may come in that time.  They shall come, too.  I shall share with you all my fortunes, and you have told me many a time that I was sure to succeed.  I pledge you my word that before many years you shall have good honest men at your feet,” and he reasoned with her so sensibly, and petted and soothed her so kindly, that at last she clung to his arm as if it were a defence indeed, and said, with tearful eyes, “You are a brother in the best sense of the word, and I wonder you have patience with such a reckless, passionate fool as I am.  I’m not fit for you to speak to.”

“No, Belle, you are not bad at heart—­far from it.  You are half desperate from your present misfortunes, and in your blind impulse to escape you would make matters infinitely worse.  Be patient, dear.  It’s a long lane that has no turning.  To one so young as you are life promises very much, if it is not spoiled at the beginning, and Mr. Wentworth would tell us that there is a heaven beyond it all.”

The influence of this interview did not speedily pass from her mind, and by her gentler and more patient bearing Mildred was taught again how much she owed to one whom she had so long repelled.

Mr. Wentworth succeeded in interesting the lady to whom he had referred in Mildred, and a visit from the young girl confirmed her good impressions.  As a result, sufficient work was found or made to give Mildred steady employment.  Mr. Jocelyn was comparatively quiet and much at home.  Often he was excessively irritable and exasperating in words and manner, but no longer violent from bestial excess.  He put off the project of going to a curative institution, with the true opium inertia and procrastination, and all efforts to lead him to definite action proved fruitless.  His presence, however, and his quiet, haughty ways, with Roger’s frequent visits, did much for a time to restrain the ill-disposed people around them, but the inevitable contact with so much depravity and coarseness was almost unendurable.