that Uncle Dave has a conscience too, hasn’t he?”

“Yes. But I am not the keeper of his conscience. Come, Anne, if this affair did not concern Leslie—if it were a purely abstract case, you would agree with me,—you know you would.”

“I wouldn’t,” vowed Anne, trying to believe it herself. “Oh, you can argue all night, Gilbert, but you won’t convince me. Just you ask Miss Cornelia what she thinks of it.”

“You’re driven to the last ditch, Anne, when you bring up Miss Cornelia as a reinforcement. She will say, ‘Just like a man,’ and rage furiously. No matter. This is no affair for Miss Cornelia to settle. Leslie alone must decide it.”

“You know very well how she will decide it,” said Anne, almost in tears. “She has ideals of duty, too. I don’t see how you can take such a responsibility on your shoulders. I couldn’t.”

“‘Because right is right to follow right

Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence,’”

quoted Gilbert.

“Oh, you think a couplet of poetry a convincing argument!” scoffed Anne. “That is so like a man.”

And then she laughed in spite of herself. It sounded so like an echo of Miss Cornelia.

“Well, if you won’t accept Tennyson as an authority, perhaps you will believe the words of a Greater than he,” said Gilbert seriously. “‘Ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.’ I believe that,