Redding frowned and bit his lip.  “That’s not fair!” he said.  “You know Dick’s my chum; that he hasn’t the least influence over me; that I am about the only one to stand by him.”

“I am not afraid of his influence, but I don’t want people to see you together; it makes them say things.”

“But, Lucy, you wouldn’t have me go back on him?  Dick has a big heart; he’s trying to brace up—­”

“Oh, nonsense!” cried Lucy, impatiently.  The fire in her eyes had dried the tears.  “He could straighten up if he wanted to.  He likes to drink and gamble, so he does it, and you keep him in countenance by your friendship.  Are you hesitating between us?” she demanded angrily.

Redding’s face was clouded, and he spoke slowly:  “You wouldn’t ask this of me, Lucy, if you understood.  Dick and I have been chums since we were boys.  He came to Kentucky three months ago, sick and miserable.  One day he came into the office and said, ’Bob, you ’ve pulled through all right; do you think it’s too late for me to try?’ What would you have said?”

“What you did, probably,” answered Lucy; “but I would have profited by the one experience, for he has hardly drawn a sober breath since.”  She looked out of the window across the snowy landscape, and in her face was something of the passionless purity of the scene upon which her eyes rested.

“You are mistaken,” he cried fiercely.  “Because you have seen him several times in that condition, you have no right to draw such a conclusion.  He is weak, nobody denies it; but what can you know of the struggle he makes, of his eagerness to do better, of the fight that he is constantly making with himself?”

His words fell on deaf ears.

“Then you choose Mr. Harris?”

“Lucy, this is madness; it is not like you in the least!”

The girl was cold with anger and excitement.  “It is bad enough,” she said, “to know that my defense of you last night was worse than useless, but to have you persist in a friendship with a man who is beneath you in every way is more than I can stand.”  She slipped a ring from her finger, and held it toward him.  “I could never marry a man of whom I was ashamed.”

The shot went home; there was a white line about Redding’s mouth as he turned away.

“I would not ask you to,” he said, with simple dignity, as he opened the door.

“Please, ma’am, is this Miss Olcott’s?” asked a trembling voice on the piazza.  A shabby woman stood looking at them with wild eyes; her gray hair had escaped from the torn shawl that was pinned over her head, and stray locks blew across her face.

Lucy did not recognize her.  “I will speak to you in a moment,” she said.

An awkward pause followed, each waiting for the other to speak.

“I will come when you send for me,” said Redding, without looking at her, and, turning abruptly, he strode down the steps and out into the dusk.