Finally, she left the room, sought her mother, and exclaimed,-- "Mother, I'm not going to marry Reynolds Bartram.

If hotel servants know all about his goings-on evenings, what stories may they not tell if they choose?
That sort of people will say anything they can of him.
I don't suppose they know the difference between the truth and a lie; at least they never do when we hire them." The mother looked at the daughter tenderly and shrewdly.

Then she smiled, and said,-- "Daughter, I can see but one way for you to relieve your mind on that subject." "What is that ?" asked the daughter.
"It is only this: convert Jane.".