Dennis’s pride gave way before her cool and unstudied indifference. It was clearly evident to him that he had no hold upon her life whatever, and how to gain any he did not see. He became more and more dejected.
“She must have a heart, or I could not love her so; but it is so encased in ice I fear I can never reach it.”
That something was wrong with Dennis any friend who cared for him at all might see. The Bruders did, and, with the quick intuitions of woman, Mrs. Bruder half guessed the cause. Mr. Bruder, seeing preoccupation and sometimes weary apathy in Dennis’s face, would say, “Mr. Fleet is not well.”
Then, as even this slight notice of his different appearance seemed to give pain, Mr. Bruder was patiently and kindly blind to his pupil’s inattention.
Dennis faithfully kept up all his duties on Sunday as during the week; but all was now hard work. Some little time after the unlucky morning which he could never think of without an expression of pain, he went to his mission class as usual. He heard his boys recite their lessons, said a few poor lame words in explanation, and then leaned his head listlessly and wearily on his hand. He was startled by hearing a sweet voice say, “Well, Mr. Fleet, are you not going to welcome a new laborer into your corner of the vineyard?”
With a deep flush he saw that Miss Winthrop was in charge of the class next to him, and that he had been oblivious to her presence nearly an hour. He tried to apologize. But she interrupted him, saying: “Mr. Fleet, you are not well. Anyone can see that.”
Then Dennis blushed as if he had a raging fever, and she was perplexed.
The closing exercises of the school now occupied them and then they walked out together.
“Mr. Fleet,” she said, “you never accepted my invitation. We have not seen you at our house. But perhaps your circle of friends is so large that you do not wish to add to it.”
Dennis could not forbear a smile at the suggestion, but he said, in apology, “I do not visit anyone, save a gentleman from whom I am taking lessons.”
“Do you mean to say that you have no friends at all in this great city?”
“Well, I suppose that is nearly the truth; that is, in the sense you use the term. My teacher and his wife—”
“Nonsense! I mean friends of one’s own age, people of the same culture and status as yourself. I think we require such society, as truly as we need food and air. I did not mean those whom business or duty brought you in contact with, or who are friendly or grateful as a matter of course.”
“I have made no progress since my introduction to society at Miss Brown’s,” said Dennis.
“But you had the sincere and cordial offer of introduction,” said Miss Winthrop, looking a little hurt.
“I feel hardly fit for society,” said Dennis, all out of sorts with himself. “It seems that I can only blunder and give pain. But I am indeed grateful for your kindness.”
Miss Winthrop looked into his worn, pale face, and instinctively knew that something was wrong, and she felt real sympathy for the lonely young man, isolated among thousands. She said, gently but decidedly: “I did mean my invitation kindly, and I truly wished you to come. The only proof you can give that you appreciate my courtesy is to accept an invitation for tomorrow evening. I intend having a little musical entertainment.”
Quick as light flashed the thought, “Christine will be there.” He said, promptly: “I will come, and thank you for the invitation. If I am awkward, you must remember that I have never mingled in Chicago society, and for a long time not in any.”
She smiled merrily at him, and said, “Don’t do anything dreadful, Mr. Fleet.”
He caught her mood, and asked what had brought her down from her theological peak to such a valley of humiliation as a mission school.
“You and Miss Ludolph,” she answered, seriously. “Between you, you gave me such a lesson that afternoon at Miss Brown’s that I have led a different life ever since. Christine made all as dark as despair, and against that darkness you placed the fiery Cross. I have tried to cling to the true cross ever since. Now He could not say to me, ‘Inasmuch as ye did it not.’ And oh!” said she, turning to Dennis with a smile full of the light of Heaven, “His service is so very sweet! I heard last week that teachers were wanted at this mission school, so I came, and am glad to find you a neighbor.”
Dennis’s face also kindled at her enthusiasm, but after a moment grew sad again.
“I do not always give so lifeless a lesson as today,” he said, in a low voice.
“Mr. Fleet, you are not well. I can see that you look worn and greatly wearied. Are you not in some way overtaxing yourself?”
Again that sensitive flush, but he only said: “I assure you I am well. Perhaps I have worked a little hard. That is all.”
“Well, then, come to our house and play a little tomorrow evening,” she answered from the platform of a street car, and was borne away.
Dennis went to his lonely room, full of self-reproach.
“Does she find Christ’s service so sweet, and do I find it so dull and hard? Does human love alone constrain me, and not the love of Christ? Truly I am growing weak. Everyone says I look ill. I think I am, in body and soul, and am ceasing to be a man; but with God’s help I will be one—and what is more, a Christian. I thank you, Miss Winthrop; you have helped me more than I have helped you. I will accept your invitation to go out into the world. I will no longer mope, brood, and perish in the damp and shade
