It is sadly true of most men today that the more you cover them up the better they look. Our civilization demands a coat, and the rule seems to be—the more civilization, the more coat. Dan Matthews is one of those rare men who look well in his shirt sleeves. His shoulders and body needed no shaped and padded garments to set them off. The young woman's eyes, in spite of her calm self-possession, betrayed her admiration as he stood before her so tall and straight—his powerful shoulders, deep chest and great muscled arms, so clearly revealed.
But Dan did not see the admiration in her eyes. He was so bewildered by the mere fact of her presence that he failed to note this interesting detail.
He looked toward the house, then back to the young woman's face.
"You were watching me from the house," he repeated. "Really, I did not know that you—"
"Were your neighbors?" she finished. "Yes we are. Grace and I moved yesterday. You see," she continued eager to explain, "it was not good for her to remain in that place. It was all so suggestive of her suffering. I knew that Mrs. Mulhall had a room for rent, because I had planned to take it before I decided to go back to Chicago." She blushed as she recalled the thoughts that had led her to the decision, but went on resolutely. "The poor child has such a fear of everybody, that I thought it would help her to know that Mrs. Mulhall and Denny could be good to her, even though it was Denny's father, that her father—you know—"
Dan's eyes were shining. "Yes I know," he said.
"I explained to Mrs. Mulhall and, like the dear good soul she is, she understood at once and made the poor child feel better right away. I thought, too, that if Grace were living here with Mrs. Mulhall it might help the people to be kinder to her. Then someone will give her a chance to earn her living and she will be all right. The people will soon act differently when they see how Mrs. Mulhall feels, don't you think they will?"
Dan could scarcely find words. She was so entirely unconscious of the part she was playing—of this beautiful thing she was doing.
"And you?" he asked, "You are not going away?"
"Not until she gets a place. She will need me until she finds a home, you know. And Dr. Harry assures me there is plenty of work for me in Corinth. So Grace and I will keep house at Mrs. Mulhall's. Grace will do the work while I am busy. It will make her feel less dependent and," she added frankly, "it will not cost so much that way. And that brings me to what I came out here to say." She paused. "I wish to thank you, Mr. Matthews, for your help—for the money you sent. The poor child needed so many things, and—I want to beg your pardon for—for the shameful way I treated you when you called. I—I knew better, and Mrs. Mulhall has been telling me how much you have done for them. I—"