And Mrs. Roberts smiled and kept her own counsel; and this was all that she was supposed to know about her young guest. She never knew the whole story about Professor Ellis; though there was a girl, Hester Mason by name, in Dr. Everett's Sabbath-school, who could have told her a good deal about him, and about Gracie Dennis' helping to break the net that Satan had woven for her unwary feet. The fact is, there is a great deal concerning all these people—Hester Mason and Dr. Everett and Joy Saunders and Joy Saunders' mother—which I should have liked to tell you if I could have found room. You may read of them any time, however, if you choose, in a book called “An Endless Chain.” Of course, the story of their lives does not end even there, because the chain is, as I said, endless; but there are many of the links presented to view.
So Grace Dennis went home. And neither then, nor afterward, did Mrs. Roberts hear in detail the story of Professor Ellis. What matter? She had, however, a short added chapter. It came in a letter from Mrs. Marion Dennis not long after Gracie's return. It read thus.—
Oh, Flossy Shipley Roberts! blessed little scheming saint that you are! What did you do? How did you do it! Ah! I know more about it than those sentences would indicate. The dear Lord did it, working through you, His servant. He has called our Gracie to higher ground, filled her heart with that which has made insignificant things take their true place, and wrong things show for what they are.
You know, of course, that it is all right about Professor Ellis;—or no! I fear it is all wrong about him, but right with our Gracie. I hear that he has permanently located in your city. Perhaps your Christian charity can reach him. He sent Gracie a letter, trying to explain certain affairs about that Mason girl, with which I presume you are familiar. She showed me the letter and her answer. He will not write her another!
“I don't know any Mason girl,” said Mrs. Roberts to her husband, “but it doesn't matter. I don't want to know the story if there is nothing to be done through it. There are stories enough that one must know.”
CHAPTER XXX. — “IT IS NO MADE-UP AFFAIR”
It was Monday evening, and there was company at Mr. Roberts' home; not the usual Monday evening gathering, but quite a large party of well-dressed men and women, many of them young, yet some were middle-aged. The pretty room opposite the conservatory was thrown open, and aglow with lights and flowers; and groups were continually passing in and out, admiring the paintings and the flowers, and the type-writers of different patterns, and the books and magazines, of which there were many. But interest was not confined to this room. The parlors were thrown open and the music-room beyond; even the cosy little library was public property for this one evening. The company was large, and their tastes were varied; so no pains had been spared to give them variety.
You are acquainted with quite a number of the guests; yet I am by no means sure that you would recognize them all. Even in so short a period of time as three years, great changes may be elicited!