Oh, Gracie Dennis! How are warnings sometimes received, even by carefully-trained girls, who have every reason to trust the love that would shield them?
“Some people are very hard to warn,” said the doctor. “I have tried it, and I have a friend who has tried to help her; but the poor girl, you must remember, has not been brought up in a Christian atmosphere—has never had a Christian friend who came with the authority of relationship. If she had a good father the way would be made so plain. As it is, can't you see how naturally she distrusts the rest of us, in favor of the man who makes special professions of friendship? I am not surprised at Hester, I am only sorry for her.”
Had the doctor been carefully informed as to all the circumstances connected with Gracie's intimacy with the professor, he could not have chosen words which would have touched her conscience more. Had not her good father tenderly and patiently warned her? and had she not chosen to blind her eyes to all his words, and believe rather in Professor Ellis than in him?
CHAPTER XXIII. — “PART OF THE GREAT WELL-TO-DO WORLD.”
“I must call at this house,” the doctor said, suddenly drawing rein before a quiet little house at the foot of a wide lawn. “The gatekeeper of this American castle has a sick child whom I have promised to see. Can you hold the horses, Miss Dennis, or shall I tie them? This is a quiet spot, and they are gentle.”
“I am not afraid of anything,” Gracie said, eyes aglow as well as cheeks. And the doctor went into the house wondering whether Professor Ellis, if he could see her now, would not be afraid of her.
Once inside he gave a start of surprise, almost of dismay, for the face which appeared at the open door of the sick-room belonged to Joy Saunders.
“You here?” he said, trying to control the disturbed element in his voice.