their own strange standpoint, to interest her in their private sorrows and joys. This was impertinent; he did not wish their cause to be championed by a young girl: he would rather it should fail. After all, he knew nothing about them, and pension joys, pension sorrows, are flimsy things; whereas Lucy would be his parishioner.

Lucy, with one eye upon the weather, finally said that she thought the Emersons were nice; not that she saw anything of them now. Even their seats at dinner had been moved.

“But aren't they always waylaying you to go out with them, dear?” said the little lady inquisitively.

“Only once. Charlotte didn't like it, and said something — quite politely, of course.”

“Most right of her. They don't understand our ways. They must find their level.”