much," echoed the host, with less delicacy. "Their mother is one
of those women who stand in terror of their husband's will. Now, if he
were to die and leave her with a will of her own she would hardly know
what to do with it--I mean with her will--or the property either."

The hostess protested softly against so harsh a speech, and the son,
after one or two failures, got in his remark:--

"Maybe the prodigal would come back and be taken in."

But nobody gave this conjecture much attention. The host was still
talking of the lady without a will.

"Isn't she an invalid?" Dr. Sevier had asked.

"Yes; the trip down here last season was on her account,--for change of
scene. Her health is wretched."

"I'm distressed that I didn't call on her," said the hostess; "but they
went away suddenly. My dear, I wonder if they really did encounter the
young man here?"

"Pshaw!" said the husband, softly, smiling and shaking his head, and
turned the conversation.

In time it settled down with something like earnestness for a few
minutes upon a subject which the rich find it easy to discuss without
the least risk of undue warmth. It was about the time when one of the
graciously murmuring mulattoes was replenishing the glasses, that remark
in some way found utterance to this effect,--that the company present
could congratulate themselves on living in a community where there was
no poor class.

"Poverty, of course, we see; but there is no misery, or nearly none,"
said the ambitious son of the host.

Dr. Sevier differed with him. That was one of the Doctor's blemishes as
a table guest: he would differ with people.

"There is misery," he said; "maybe not the gaunt squalor and starvation
of London or Paris or New York; the climate does not tolerate
that,--stamps it out before it can assume dimensions; but there is at
least misery of that sort that needs recognition and aid from the
well-fed."

The lady who had been beautiful so many years had somewhat to say; the
physician gave attention, and she spoke:--

"If sister Jane were here, she would be perfectly triumphant to hear you
speak so, Doctor." She turned to the hostess, and continued: "Jane is
quite an enthusiast, you know; a sort of Dorcas, as husband says,
modified and readapted. Yes, she is for helping everybody."

"Whether help is good for them or not," said the lady's husband, a very
straight and wiry man with a garrote collar.

"It's all one," laughed the lady. "Our