ion because it paid him
better than any other business he could embark in. Music is often the
line of easiest resistance, and many there be that slide down its
graceful curves. In more senses than one, it is easier to play than to
work. But when Miss Husted conferred a patent of nobility on a foreign
gentleman, were he an Italian organ-grinder or a French waiter, that
title stood, his own protest to the contrary notwithstanding. In this
particular view-point Miss Husted was completely opposite to her maid
of all work.

Thurza's mental attitude was the socialistic slant that made for the
destruction of aristocracy; Miss Husted's system created one of her
own. To Thurza foreigners were either "dagoes" or "Dutch"; to Miss
Husted they were either "gentlemen" or "noblemen" or both. In this
way, perhaps, the balance of harmony was restored in Houston Mansion,
as Miss Husted dearly loved to call her home. There was some
foundation for believing that the name Houston Mansion was painted on
the glass over the front door, but it was so worn that no one could
decipher it.

A violent ring at the door-bell interrupted the conversation between
Miss Husted and her niece.

"They'll break the bell if they're not careful," remarked the elder
lady, arranging her ringlets in the event that it might be some one to
see her.

"It's a lady," whispered Jenny to her aunt a few moments later. "She
wants a room."

Miss Husted sniffed. "I don't like ladies; they're twice the trouble
that gentlemen are, and--I don't know--I don't like 'em. Ladies
looking for furnished rooms always have a history--and a past; I don't
like 'em."

Jenny nodded without in the least understanding her aunt. She had
heard this before, but she knew it was a peculiarity of Miss Husted
always to say the same thing under the same circumstances, whether the
occasion called for it or not.

"Shall I ask her in, or will you come out into the hall?" went on the
child.

"Ask her kindly to step into the reception-room," said her aunt,
kicking a feather duster under the sofa and generally tidying up a bit.

A large, stout person of uncertain age stood in the doorway.

"Is this the reception-room?" asked the lady, fixing her glasses and
looking about her as if quite prepared to disbelieve any statement Miss
Husted was about to make. That lady, much offended, drew herself up
stiffly.

"Yes, this is the reception-room," she said, in a tone intended to be
frig