like a ship without ballast, heeling over with every wind, and letting in the waters of immorality and scepticism. Remove this pulpit balance just for one week from New York City, and where should we be?” “Well then,” said Ethel, “the clergy ought to give New York a first-rate article in sermons, either of home or foreign manufacture. New York expects the very best of everything; and when she gets it, she opens her heart and her pocketbook enjoys it, and pays for it.” “That is the truth, Ethel. I was thinking of your grandmother Rawdon. You have your hat on—are you going to see her?” “I am going to see Dora Denning. I had an urgent note from her last night. She says she has ‘extraordinary news’ and begs me to ‘come to her immediately.’ I cannot imagine what her news is. I saw her Friday afternoon.” “She has a new poodle, or a new lover, or a new way of crimping her hair,” suggested Ruth Bayard scornfully. “She imposes on you, Ethel; why do you submit to her selfishness?” “I suppose because I have become used to it. Four years ago I began to take her part, when the girls teased and tormented her in the schoolroom, and I have big-sistered her ever since. I suppose we get to love those who make us kind and give us trouble. Dora is not perfect, but I like her better than any friend I have. And she must like me, for she asks my advice about everything in her life.” “Does she take it?” “Yes—generally. Sometimes I have to make her take it.” “She has a mother. Why does she not go to her?” “Mrs. Denning knows nothing about certain subjects. I am Dora’s social godmother, and she must dress and behave as I tell her to do. Poor Mrs. Denning! I am so sorry for her—another cup of coffee, Ruth—it is not very strong.” “Why should you be sorry for Mrs. Denning, Her husband is enormously rich—she lives in a palace, and has a crowd of men and women servants to wait upon her—carriages, horses, motor cars, what not, at her command.” “Yet really, Ruth, she is a most unhappy woman. In