She spent years learning to do that, he thought, and any amount of money. Oh, well. She had it to spend, and of what else were they capable — those hands? He could see them fluttering caressingly over the keys, pink, slender, pretty, — and then he saw other hands, somewhat work-worn, not small nor yet too large, but white and shapely. Ah! Of what were they not capable? And the other girl in coarse white homespun, seated before the fire in Hoke Belew’s cabin, holding in her arms the small bundle — and her smile, so rare and fleeting!

He saw again the handsome sullen youth in Bishop Towers’ garden, regarding him over the hedge with narrowed eyes, and his whole nature rebelled and cried out as before, “What a waste!” Why should he allow it to go on? He must thrash this thing out once