The old gentleman bowed, and smiled a little sadly.
“I heard and saw it all,” he said, quietly. “I give thee my word I could not move away from that corner. I was so interested in the outcome that I deliberately remained to hear it.”
“And you approve of my action?” asked Marion, as she studied his face closely.
“I do, indeed, daughter,” said the Quaker, firmly. “Thy sister is an innocent—protect her always, particularly from such men, who are but wolves in sheep’s clothing.”
“That is what I thought,” said Marion, as he moved away. “Come Dollie, let us go! This is no place for country maidens.”
“I don’t dare go back to the office,” said Dollie, as they went out; “he will be as angry as possible, and perhaps he will discharge me. Oh! Marion, what was the harm? Why couldn’t I go to the matinee?”
Marion drew a deep breath; she was sorely puzzled. Sometimes it seemed to her that Dollie was almost lacking in understanding.
“Dollie! Dollie!” she said, earnestly, “how can you be so foolish? As if you cared so much about a matinee that you would hurt Ralph’s feelings by going with your employer! Is it not better to deny yourself a little pleasure than to take such risks with your future happiness?”
“Ralph isn’t so small as to care, I am sure,” said Dollie, panting; “and oh, Marion, I am so sorry you talked as you did! I think you were awfully rude to poor Mr. Atherton!”
Marion bit her lips, and her eyes filled with tears. She was realizing keenly her responsibility as a sister. She should never, never have left Dollie unprotected.