“Horace has told you, no doubt, Ann, of the children’s case.”  She nodded her head sorrowfully.  “Your brother seems to feel,” went on Everett, “that I should not have taken charge of it.”

“Neither should you have done so, Everett, unless you’ve other motives than we know of.”

She looked up; but lowered her eyes as Brimbecomb glanced at her furtively.  Had Fledra told her of his advances?  No, or she would never have received his kisses.  His fears were quieted by this thought, and he asked gently: 

“What motives could I have other than that justice should be done the father?  I took the case, first, because it came to me; then, because I think the man ought to have his children.”

Miss Shellington’s face darkened.

“Oh, Everett, you can’t be so hard-hearted as to want those poor little things misused!  They have been persecuted by their own people, and you certainly have more heart than to want that to happen again.”

“It’s not a case of feeling; it’s a case of justice.  I know how this man has struggled all his life to rear this boy and girl.  They’ve had no mother, and then, as soon as they were old enough and had the chance, they ran away.”

“Because he was cruel to them!”

“I don’t believe it.  I’ve had something to do with men, and I’m assured that he told me the truth.  I believe, as he says, that they excused their leaving home by brazen lies.  Have you never caught them lying to you, Ann?”

“No, no!  They’ve always been truthful to me.”

“And to Horace?”

“I haven’t asked him.  But, if they hadn’t been, I am sure he would have spoken of it.  Everett, let me plead with you.  They have been with us a long time, and Horace and I have grown used to them.  They need our care more than I can tell you.  The boy is still very ill.  Won’t you let my love for you plead for them, and withdraw from the case?  Do, Dear, and let me call Horace.  Will you, Everett?  He’s so sad over it!  Oh! may I call him?” She had risen from her chair; but a negative shake of the man’s head made her resume her place again, and she continued, “It will be a dreadful thing for them, if they have to go back.  Now, listen, Everett!  If you will withdraw and let Horace settle it with that man, our arrangements,” her face was dyed crimson,—­“I mean your plans and mine for our wedding, shall remain as they are.  Otherwise—­”

“Otherwise, what?” breathed Everett, bending toward her.

“I—­I shall have to postpone them.”  Her voice had strengthened as she spoke, and the last statement was clear and ringing.

“Oh, you couldn’t, Ann!  Because I take a perfectly legitimate case, which comes into our office, you propose to postpone our marriage?”

“But, Everett, think of what you are doing!  It is as if you had taken my brother by the throat.  You were the first one to suggest that he might love the girl.  What if he does?”