"I am expected, I find," observed Jack, glancing at the well-covered board. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. As Jack conjectured, no one was there, and, though a lamp was burning on a stand, they decided upon proceeding without it. But a girl is soiled not only by evil but by the proximity of evil, and a reputation for rashness may do her as serious an injury as really reprehensible conduct. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. I made a wrong choice, it seems—but my voice remains. He looked the boy over with interest. “Let me see,” he said. "You show more consideration to the feelings of a hempen widow, than there is any need to show. And tell Pottiswick to mend that lock we broke.
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