The Opened Shutters. Clara Louise Burnham

but for the quick consideration of Judge Trent's situation had he not transferred his ticket this morning.

      Dunham even wondered if Miss Lacey might not have learned in some way who it was that had engaged this chair and made her arrangements accordingly. However, the surprise with which she recognized him was certainly genuine.

      "Aren't these seats comfortable?" she went on as he sank into his. "I never traveled in one before. I'm just being reckless this morning."

      Her triumphant, half-defiant regard did not indicate that she was laboring under any disappointment.

      Upon Dunham's acquiescence she continued: "Perhaps, being in the office, you know about my windfall?"

      "I hadn't heard, but I'm glad there was a windfall."

      Miss Martha scrutinized the speaker's countenance approvingly. "He's about as pleasant-looking a man as I ever laid eyes on," she thought.

      "It isn't exactly a windfall, because it's only my own come back to me; but it's money I never expected to see again, and if Cal—if Judge Trent wasn't a good deal smarter than the average I never should have, either."

      "Not many people can get ahead of him," returned Dunham.

      "I guess not," said Miss Lacey, and she bridled proudly in a manner not lost upon her neighbor. "So I just said to myself this morning, 'What's the use of always being so careful?' Said I, 'I believe I'll see for once how it feels to go to Boston like a nabob.'"

      Dunham smiled and nodded, perceiving that Miss Martha felt that her extravagance must be explained even if it could not be justified.

      The extra alertness of her look suffered a slight cloud as she continued: "One thing that made me feel reckless was that affairs are taking a turn that may make me be more careful and more economical than I ever was before, and I just thought before I found out I'd have one good time!"

      As she finished, the defiant expression returned, and she cast a glance at her companion which seemed to challenge his disapproval. "I notice you don't—I notice lots of folks don't mind the extravagance."

      "Ah, but Judge Trent pays my expenses, you see."

      Miss Lacey drew herself up under the smiling regard. "He came very near paying mine," was her unspoken thought, and she would have been astonished to know how close her companion came to reading it.

      "Of course that makes a difference," she returned, and she regarded her neighbor curiously, wishing she knew just what his business arrangement was with the judge.

      "And I would have known, too, if I'd married him," she thought.

      Dunham had been handling a magazine, watching for the moment when he could open it; but gaining more and more the impression that Miss Lacey felt his companionship to be a perquisite which rendered more reasonable the price of her chair, he dropped the periodical in his lap.

      "Well, for my part, Miss Lacey," he said, leaning his head back definitely, "I think some well-distributed extravagance isn't so disreputable."

      "Perhaps not," she returned, "but if you were a lone spinster without a bank account you might have your doubtful moments."

      There was a hint of childlike excitement in the speaker's manner which Dunham found rather touching.

      "Don't pretend to me that you ever have doubtful moments," he said, regarding the alert face with curiosity as to how it had appeared in those days when Judge Trent had wanted "just that one girl."

      "My!" exclaimed Miss Lacey. "I'm having a doubtful moment right now; not one, but dozens! I'm on the most ticklish errand of my life. That's what I called on Judge Trent about the other day."

      "That's right," commented Dunham gravely. "Never move without legal advice."

      "And if I'd had any idea I was going to meet you, I'd have brought your handkerchief. I've done it up as smooth as satin."

      "How good of you!"

      "And it's pretty near as fine as satin, too; and that worked monogram is a beauty; but it's lucky you're a lawyer, for it would take one to figure out what the letters are;—but you needn't tell your sweetheart I said so."

      Dunham laughed. "I won't. It would break her heart."

      "Don't you ever wipe off chairs with it again. It's wicked," declared Miss Lacey emphatically.

      "Then don't you ever come into the office and give me heart failure by your unkind comments."

      "I don't know as I ever shall," returned Miss Lacey, suddenly pensive and looking into space. "The other day I was clear out of Judge Trent's office and into the street, and it was too late to go back, before I realized that I'd scarcely got three words from him that were really definite or any use to me. Has he mentioned to you anything about a niece of his who has come to Boston? I suppose he hasn't."

      "Yes, he has."

      "Indeed? Well, she's mine, too, and this minute I'm on my way to see her." Miss Lacey made the declaration impressively. "He ought to be here himself. But I won't shirk my duty if he does his. She's come clear from Illinois, and I don't know what for. I wish I was like some folks and could let her shift for herself; but she isn't twenty yet, and I haven't got the heart. I haven't been smart, I saw that afterward; for if I'd gone to Judge Trent and just said I was too poor to do anything for Sylvia and stuck to it, and carried matters with a high hand and told him I wasn't going near her, he'd have had to. I see that as plain as day now, but he came at me with the good news about my money, and kind of sidled me toward the door, and while I was gasping and trying to realize it, the first thing I knew I was downstairs."

      Dunham received her injured look with a nod as she paused.

      "I live all alone," she went on, and John wondered who then customarily received her flow of conversation; "and all this sudden business is a great disturbance to me. I've laid awake over the matter, and prayed over it, and here I am, not knowing yet what I'm going to do."

      She fell silent. She could not tell this stranger that it was the ne'er-do-well character of her only brother which caused her panic at the mere hint of taking the responsibility of his daughter, many years motherless and the companion of his wholly slipshod methods of life. In years past Calvin Trent had been wont to say it was like pouring water into a sieve to endeavor to help Sam Lacey.

      While Miss Martha was indulging in a résumé of the dismal situation her companion took a folded memorandum from an inside pocket and scanned it.

      "Girl at Hotel Frisbie.

      "Name Sylvia Lacey.

      "Age nineteen.

      "Her mother, my sister, dead for ten years.

      "Her father, recently deceased, an alleged artist, a rolling stone and a scapegrace all his life.

      "Be present at interview between Miss Martha Lacey and the girl.

      "Let Miss Martha take the lead."

      There were a few further instructions, but Miss Lacey here broke in upon the reading.

      "I'm going to ask you to do one more gallant thing for me, Sir Walter."

      "I'm ready."

      "Put me on the right car for Hotel Frisbie. The Boston street-cars are a hopeless muddle to me—always were and always will be."

      "I'll escort you to the hotel."

      "Oh, that's too kind!" exclaimed Miss Martha. "I'm not quite non compos. I can get out all right. It's the getting in that's the puzzle."

      "But I have to go there myself. Judge Trent thought you might need a lieutenant. He has sent me to help you."

      The color rushed to Miss Martha's face. Calvin was thinking of her, after all. Her eyes glistened with sudden hope.

      "What is he willing to do?" she demanded.

      "Nothing—that