“But, Dr. Everett, you do not think,—you cannot mean that he intends to pay her special attention; that he means anything beyond the desire to give her a little pleasure?”
“Well,” said the doctor, speaking slowly, but with firmness, “you may judge, Miss Dennis, what I think,—what any honorable person thinks,—of a man who bestows in public the sort of attentions which we saw this afternoon, You would have been insulted by them. The only reason that this poor girl was not, is because she does not know any better.
“Did you observe the flashing of a peculiarly set ring on her finger? I have reason to fear that it belongs to him and that she believes herself specially honored in being asked to wear it.”
Poor Gracie's cheeks were flaming now. She had not observed the ring, but she knew it well, and for one brief evening had worn it herself, and then had returned it to the owner with the assurance that she could not bring herself to wear it without her father's consent. She remembered what a wound she had felt herself bestowing when he had looked at her with those expressive, reproachful eyes, and replied that if she felt toward him as he did to her, she would not allow even a father to come between them. And he had actually given that ring into the keeping of this girl!
They rode on in silence, the doctor giving a hint to the horses that they might go as fast as they chose. He was in great doubt and pain of heart. Could it be possible that this carefully-shielded young girl was caught in the toils of a man whom he believed to be an unprincipled villain?
If so, had he been unnecessarily cruel in his revelations? Ought he to take her home, or drive further, and give her time to recover herself?
Could he have understood what was passing in her mind he would have known better what next to say. The simple truth was this: Before she came to Mrs. Roberts' the child had believed herself to be a martyr to the unreasonable prejudices of her stepmother. She had been led to feel that her father had turned against her, solely because of his wife's influence over him, and that the wife was piqued because Professor Ellis had not paid her sufficient attention in the days of her maidenhood. This, the professor had succeeded in teaching Gracie to feel, was the sole charge against him. He was, therefore, an ill-used man, and therefore her heart went out towards him in sympathy.
It had not been at first a stronger feeling than this; but flattered by his attentions, so much more marked and polished than had ever been offered to the young girl before, she had taught herself to believe that, but for her father's bitterness, she could be to Professor Ellis what he delicately and vaguely assured her no one else could, and fill a place that hitherto in his lonely life had been left void. She had not engaged herself to him; indeed, he had never, in actual words, asked her to do so; but to the young and innocent and well-trained there is a language which speaks as clearly as words, and is held as sacred.
Gracie had allowed herself to be looked upon as one who was held by others from being more to Professor Ellis than she was; who might always, perhaps, be held back,—for she had resolved in her own sad heart that she would never marry against her father's consent, no, not if she were twice of age.
Of late, strange reflections had come to her. She had measured Professor Ellis with other men, Christian men, and he had appeared at a disadvantage. Also she had measured herself by the side of other Christian workers, and herself had appeared at a disadvantage. A vague unrest and dissatisfaction with her Christian experience were growing on her. Moreover, she was growing interested in those boys, as she had not believed that it would be possible for her to be interested when she first saw them. She began to believe that some of them, at least, would be saved. She wanted to help save them, and to help others. Her martyrdom dwindled rapidly into insignificance, until there would pass entire days in which she did not once remember that she as an unhappy girl.