“But has thee provided money for Philip to use in opening the coal mine?”

“Yes, I have set apart as much as it ought to cost to open the mine, as much as we can afford to lose if no coal is found.  Philip has the control of it, as equal partner in the venture, deducting the capital invested.  He has great confidence in his success, and I hope for his sake he won’t be disappointed.”

Philip could not but feel that he was treated very much like one of the Bolton-family—­by all except Ruth.  His mother, when he went home after his recovery from his accident, had affected to be very jealous of Mrs. Bolton, about whom and Ruth she asked a thousand questions —­an affectation of jealousy which no doubt concealed a real heartache, which comes to every mother when her son goes out into the world and forms new ties.  And to Mrs. Sterling; a widow, living on a small income in a remote Massachusetts village, Philadelphia was a city of many splendors.  All its inhabitants seemed highly favored, dwelling in ease and surrounded by superior advantages.  Some of her neighbors had relations living in Philadelphia, and it seemed to them somehow a guarantee of respectability to have relations in Philadelphia.  Mrs. Sterling was not sorry to have Philip make his way among such well-to-do people, and she was sure that no good fortune could be too good for his deserts.

“So, sir,” said Ruth, when Philip came from New York, “you have been assisting in a pretty tragedy.  I saw your name in the papers.  Is this woman a specimen of your western friends?”

“My only assistance,” replied Philip, a little annoyed, was in trying to keep Harry out of a bad scrape, and I failed after all.  He walked into her trap, and he has been punished for it.  I’m going to take him up to Ilium to see if he won’t work steadily at one thing, and quit his nonsense.”

“Is she as beautiful as the newspapers say she is?”

“I don’t know, she has a kind of beauty—­she is not like—­’

“Not like Alice?”

“Well, she is brilliant; she was called the handsomest woman in Washington—­dashing, you know, and sarcastic and witty.  Ruth, do you believe a woman ever becomes a devil?”

“Men do, and I don’t know why women shouldn’t.  But I never saw one.”

“Well, Laura Hawkins comes very near it.  But it is dreadful to think of her fate.”

“Why, do you suppose they will hang a woman?  Do you suppose they will be so barbarous as that?”

“I wasn’t thinking of that—­it’s doubtful if a New York jury would find a woman guilty of any such crime.  But to think of her life if she is acquitted.”

“It is dreadful,” said Ruth, thoughtfully, “but the worst of it is that you men do not want women educated to do anything, to be able to earn an honest living by their own exertions.  They are educated as if they were always to be petted and supported, and there was never to be any such thing as misfortune.  I suppose, now, that you would all choose to have me stay idly at home, and give up my profession.”