"Were you thinking of going golfing this afternoon?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I thought you said something about it at dinner last evening. Would you let me go with you?"

Mr. Evringham, much astonished, raised his eyebrows and took off the hat which he had replaced.

"Such a request from youth and beauty is a command," he returned with a slight bow.

Tears sprang to the girl's eyes. "Don't make fun of me, grandfather!"

she exclaimed impulsively.

"Not for worlds," he returned. "You will do the laughing when you see me drive. My hand seems to have lost its cunning this spring. Shall we say four-thirty? Very well. Good-morning."

"Now what's all this?" mused Mr. Evringham as he drove to the station.

"Has another granddaughter fallen in love with me? Methinks not. What is she after? Does she want to get away from Ballard? Methinks not, again.

She's going to ask me for something probably. Egad, if she does, I think I'll turn her over to Jewel."

Eloise's eyes were bright during the lesson that morning.

"It's to-day, Jewel," she said, "that I'm going to talk with that man I'm afraid of."

"Never say that again," returned the child vehemently. "You are not afraid. There's no one to be afraid of. Do you want me to handle it for you?"

"What do you mean, Jewel?"

"To declare the truth for you."

"Do you mean give me a treatment for it?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Do you know that seems very funny to me, Jewel?"

"It seems funny to me that you are afraid, when G.o.d made you, and the man, and all of us, and there's nothing but goodness and love in the universe. Fear is the belief of evil. Do you want to believe evil?"

"No, I hate to," returned Eloise promptly.

"Then you go away, cousin Eloise, and I will handle the case for you."

"Oh, are you going golfing?" said Mrs. Evringham that afternoon to her daughter. "Do put on your white duck, dear."

"Yes, I intend to. I'm going with grandfather."

"You are?" in extremest surprise. "Oh, wear your dark skirt, dear; it's plenty good enough. Do you mean to say he asked you, Eloise?"

"No, I asked him."

Mrs. Evringham stood in silent amaze, her brain working alertly. She even watched her daughter don the immaculate white golf suit, and made no further protest.

What was in the girl's mind? When finally from her window she saw the two enter the brougham, Mr. Evringham carrying his granddaughter's clubs, she smiled a knowing smile and nodded her head.

"I do believe I've wronged Eloise," she thought. "How foolish it was to worry. I've been wondering how in the world I was going to get father to give her a wedding, and how I was going to get her to accept it, and now look! That child has thought of the same thing, and will manage it a hundred times better than I could."

Jewel stood on the steps and waved her hand as the brougham rolled away.

Eloise had seized and squeezed her surrept.i.tiously in the hall before they came out.

"I do feel braced up, Jewel. Thank you," she whispered hurriedly.

"Is the man over at the golf links?" asked the child, surprised to see that Eloise and her grandfather were going out together.

"He will be by the time I get there," returned the girl.

As soon as the carriage door had closed and they had started, Eloise spoke. "You must think it very strange that I asked this of you, grandfather."

There was a hint of violets clinging to the fresh white garments that brushed Mr. Evringham's knee.

"I would not question the gifts the G.o.ds provide;" he returned.

She seemed able to rise above the fear of his sarcasms. "Not that you would be surprised at anything mother or I might ask of you," she continued bravely, "but I have suffered, I'm sure, as much as you have during the last two months."

"Indeed? I regret to hear that."

If there was a sting in this reply, Eloise refused to recognize it.

"In fact I have felt so much that it has made it impossible hitherto to say anything, but Jewel has given me courage."

Mr. Evringham smoothed his mustache. "She has plenty to spare," he returned.

"She says," went on Eloise, "that everything that isn't love is hate; and hate, of course, in her category is unreal. It is because I want the real things, because I long for real things, for truth, that I asked to have this talk, grandfather, and I wanted to be quite alone with you, so I thought of this way."

"It's the mater she's running away from, then," reflected her companion.

He nodded courteously. "I am at your disposal," he returned.

Subtly the broker's feeling toward Eloise had been changing since the evening in which Jewel wrote to her parents. His hard and fast opinion of her had been slightly shaken. The frankness of her remarks on Christian Science in the presence of Dr. Ballard the other evening had been a surprise to him. The cold, proud, noncommittal, ease-loving girl who in his opinion had decided to marry the young doctor was either less designing than he had believed, or else wonderfully certain of her own power to hold him. He found himself regarding her with new interest.

"I've been waiting for mother to talk with you," she went on, "and clear up our position; but she does not, and so I must." The speaker's hands were tightly clasped in her lap. "I wish I had Jewel's unconsciousness, her certainty that all is Good, for I feel--I feel shame before you, grandfather."

It seemed to Mr. Evringham that Jewel's eyes were appealing to him.

"She says," he returned with a rather grim smile, "Jewel avers that I am kindness itself inside. Let us admit it for convenience now, and see if you can't speak freely."

"Thank you. You know what I am ashamed of: staying here so long; imposing upon you; taking everything for granted when we have no right.

I want to understand our affairs; to know if we have anything, and what it is; to have you help me, _you_; to have you tell me how we can live independently, and help me to make mother agree to it. Oh, if you would--if you _could_ be my friend, grandfather. I need you so!"

Mr. Evringham received this impetuous outburst without change of countenance. "How about Ballard?" he said. "I thought he was going to settle all this."