But Christopher Kirkbright knew.

“What was it that we did see?” he asked, coming beside her.

“The gracious hurry,” she answered, with a half-vexed surprise in her eyes.

“And what is the next thing to seeing that?  Isn’t it to partake?  To be in a gracious hurry also, if we can?”

A smile came up now in Desire’s face, and effaced gently the vexation and the surprise.

“Do you know what a legible face you have?” asked Mr. Kirkbright, seating himself near her on a step of rock.

Desire was a little disturbed again by this movement.  The others had begun to walk on, up the ledge, toward the old brick house; gathering as they went, ferns that had escaped the frost, others that had delicately whitened in it, and gorgeous maple-leaves, swept from topmost, inaccessible branches,—­where the most glorious color always hangs,—­by last night’s rain and wind.

It was so foolish of her to have sat there until he came and did this.  Now she could not get right up and go away.  This feeling, coming simultaneously with his question about her legible face, was doubly uncomfortable.  But she had to answer.  She did it briefly.

“Yes.  It is a great bother.  I don’t like coarse print.”

“Nor I. But my eyes are good; and the fine print is clear.  I should like very much to tell you of something that I have to do, Miss Ledwith.  I should like your thoughts upon it.  For, you see, I have hardly yet got acquainted with my ground.  From what my sister tells me, I think your work leads naturally up to mine.  I should like to find out whether it is quite ready for the join.”

“I haven’t much work,” said Desire.  “Luclarion Grapp has; and Miss Kirkbright, and Mr. Vireo.  I only help,—­with some money that belongs to it.”

“And I have more money that belongs to it,” said Mr. Kirkbright.

It was a curious way for a rich man and a rich woman to talk to each other, about their money.  But I do not believe it ought to be curious.

“Don’t you often come across people who cannot be helped much just where they are?  Don’t you feel, sometimes, that there ought to be a place to send them to, away, out of their old tracks, where they could begin again; or even hide a while, in shame and repentance, before they dare to begin again?”

“I know Luclarion does,” said Desire, earnestly.

She would have it, still, that there was no work in her own name for him to ask about.

“I must see this Luclarion of yours,” said Mr. Kirkbright.  “Meanwhile, since I have got you to talk to, pray tell me all you can, whoever found it out.  Isn’t there a need for a City of Refuge?  And suppose a place like this, away from the towns, where God’s beautiful water is coming down in a hurry, with a cry of power in every leap,—­where there is a great lake-basin full of material for work, just stored away against men’s need for their earning and their building,—­suppose this place taken and used for the giving of a new chance of life to those who have failed and gone wrong, or have perhaps hardly ever had any right chances.  Do you think we could manage it so as to keep it a place of refuge and new beginning, and not let it spoil itself?”