She looked at him fixedly a moment, said, “I’m sorry you think this necessary,” and turned away to the door.  But once again his voice arrested her.

“Miss Heth!...  You feel an interest in the Settlement.  You’ve felt a wish to help in the work—­to lend a hand in some way to those less fortunate than yourself.  You—­you haven’t as yet decided just what you want to do....”

She had paused at the door, half-turning; their eyes met once more.  And now the whole look of the strange young man seemed to change, and he said with sudden gentleness: 

“Why don’t you go to the Works some day?”

But it was late in the day to seek to improve matters with looks and tones, with efforts to put responsibilities upon her.  Cally answered as she had answered him once before:  only it was a mark of some change in her—­toward him, perhaps toward life itself—­that she spoke with a dignity which had never been hers last year.

“I don’t think I need do that to learn that my father isn’t a homicide.”

* * * * *

For the second time also, Cally went away from the Dabney House without the company of her staunch little mother:  who would remain in this place till among the last, contending among the best people for the thing she held dearest in the world.

Cally, however, was well looked after by Mr. Avery, who welcomed her upon the threshold of the sewing-class room (if that is what it was), removing himself firmly from the Kemper.  His proposal was to continue the tour of the premises, but she replied that she found Settlementing dreadfully boring, and was of a mind to steal away for home.  The disappointed pink one then proposed to accompany her, and pay a little call, as he put it.  However, she professed an incurable dulness after her slumming, and countered with an offer to set him down at his club, if he liked.

It was so arranged, with the gallant, and also with mamma.  William Banks, detached by a nod from the procession of waiting vehicles over the dingy street, wheeled up to the entrance; halted with a whir; electrically self-started himself once more.  Carlisle bowled off with J. Forsythe Avery, who was well pleased with this token of her regard, and resolved to make the most of it.  But soon the time came when he was debarked from her conveyance; she was rid of his ponderous ardors; and Cally rolled through the twilight streets alone....

There had settled down upon her a deep and singular depression.  Her spirit ached, as if from a whipping.  She thought a little of the Works; she had remembered that moment of somewhat painful revelation last year; but no reflection brought any doubt of her father.  Long since she had reached the sound conclusion that that was the way business was; and if this fixed belief had been shaken a little now, she was hardly conscious of it.  Papa, of course, did all that was reasonable and right for his work-people; it was perfectly outrageous that he should be subjected to abuse in the newspapers.  Dr. Vivian, for his part, was conceded a religious fellow’s strange sense of duty, though it required an effort to concede him that.  Still Cally was not thinking of it from these points of view exactly.  It all seemed to be quite personal, somehow....