Old Valentines / A Love Story

e shakes hands, and to learn, at the end of ten minutes of feverish cordiality, that you were invited to dine the following night, is never comfortable, even at the home of an ol

ir over her ears, like that; the likeness always irritate

sly, but Phyllis was glad the toast wasn't

chin had come to his rescue. He gave Phyllis a brig

stand, and did, very straight, his back to the fireplace. His eyes were large and serious his color high; his hands were behind

them all of himself. He died poor, of course, and left me a good name and two hundred pounds a year. The countryside came to his funeral. The faces of the men were streaked with tears, as they stood by his grave, and women wept openly. I had letters of sympathy from every county in England, from Canada

ed "The Times" uneasily. Phylli

ing behind me that I am ashamed of. I am far from being ashamed of my profession though I admit it has seemed to require defense rather often since I came to London. My father encouraged me to adopt it when I suggested the idea to him. I will tell you what he said to me. It was this: 'All work is fine. Of course, I think labor in the Church of God is the finest.

ly. He had no inkling yet of John's errand. He was disposed to

m speak, and not love him; but she had momentary pangs of

d of doing a little good; I have given some of my afternoons and all of my evenings there ever since. Dr. Thorpe is a brick, as you know, sir; he and his wife have been very kind to me. I was rather lonely at first, and-all th

ce; the dull ache in Phyllis's h

onths ago. I think I must tell you, sir, t

rom his chair, in his

ess. You must have lost your senses. My niece"-he turned to Phyllis. Something he saw

that he-he cared for me, and we both h

of his chair, an

I had met you-not more than three times, at most; that you had been

of you, sir," said John. "But I h

?" demanded

ghborhood," John answered evenly

ontrol of himself, but his fine face was distorted. Phyllis

eeting each other there, and going a

meaning is

ems a short time, but we have s

," said Sir Peter quietly.

; he started as if

" cried Phyllis. "Oh,

e house,

ath, now, and breathing hurriedly; her eyes were unna

id, Landless." The v

lders squared. Phyllis intercepted him swift

, wait a moment for my s

John. "You kno

, John, for my sa

n, facing the door, moved slowly toward it, trying gently to disengage

Mr.-of meeting John at Saint Ruth's. But I see now you didn't realize how often I went there, nor that I was with him so many of the times. I should have told you, Uncle Peter; the f

ait a moment; just a tiny second. Uncle P

facing the doorway his b

the slow ticking of the

y, Uncle Peter,"

ead Valentine Germain; your daug

ait, Landless,"

spoken; deliberate passionl

re is a taint in all of this of which you know nothing. This unhappy child's father

ur life. But you have soiled my mother's memory for the last time in my presence. Never, never again!" A great sob choked her. "I am going to leave you, Uncle Peter. I am grateful to you for many years of generous, loving kindness. Indeed

d Sir Peter, th

slackened the pace to a rapid walk. She was breathless, her hands pressed to her heart; a maid distraught. Pitiful, inarticulate little cries escaped her from time to time. John walked beside her, silently.

now, John. I have no one