He had a new revelation of the gentleness and purity and kindness of her nature when he saw her surrounded by the rough, coarse girls who gathered about her at Whitechapel. Rough as they were, they grew gentle in her presence. A word, a glance even, from her was often enough to check a quarrel. Never had he felt more convinced of the womanly sweetness of Aldyth's character; yet, at the same time, there swept over him a feeling that his love was hopeless.
But the feeling did not last—how should it? Captain Walker's past experience had not prepared him to expect disappointment, so he made the most of his opportunities seeing Aldyth, and they were many; for Mrs. Stanton lavished invitations on the distinguished-looking captain, and seemed to think no party of pleasure complete without him. But her efforts were not crowned with the success she desired. As the hot, sultry days of July set in, and every one was planning a tour or talking of the seaside, Mrs. Stanton began to feel seriously dissatisfied with the result of her endeavours.
In vain she had thrown Gladys as much as possible into the company of Captain Walker. Nothing seemed likely to come of it. Mrs. Stanton began to suspect that it was Aldyth's fault. If only she had not that craze for factory girls! It was too bad of her to drag the captain to that horrid Whitechapel once every week.
One night, as Aldyth was brushing her hair preparatory to going to bed, her mother, who with Gladys had been spending the evening out, came into her room, looking sadly perturbed.
"Ah, you are not in bed," she said, as, all resplendent in satin and lace, she sank into a chair. "I want to have a talk with you about our plans, if you are not too tired."
"I am not very tired," said Aldyth, sitting down and shaking back her hair.
"Have you been to Whitechapel this evening?" asked Mrs. Stanton, abruptly.
"Yes, mamma," said Aldyth.
"And Captain Walker with you?"
Something in her mother's tones brought the colour into Aldyth's face.