Passing quietly by one door after another they came suddenly upon MacDaly, who was sneaking guiltily away from home.
Armour and Vivienne passed him, Camperdown stared at him without speaking, but Stargarde drew up before him with a pained and remonstrating, “Why, MacDaly, I thought you were in your room?”
MacDaly was too much overcome to speak, but he seemed to be touched by the distress of the only person in the world that he cared for besides his own unworthy self, and bowing low he laid a bottle at her feet.
Camperdown promptly broke the neck of the bottle and threw it in the gutter, and calling to Vivienne and Armour not to wait, he and Stargarde retraced their footsteps in order that they might see the wandering lamb safely within the shelter of the Pavilion.
Vivienne looked at Mr. Armour, who was gazing fixedly at her. “Stargarde is an ideal woman; I did not think that in real life there were any like her.”
“Her moral character is one of great beauty,” he said, “and she is utterly fearless; yet what is the use?”
“The use?” repeated Vivienne with vivacity; “has she not stopped MacDaly from spending the night in some saloon?”
“For to-night, yes; for to-morrow, no. He is an inveterate drunkard.”
“But he promises her to do better. He may reform some day.”
“How can he reform when inherited tendencies are crying out in an opposite direction?”