iot. Our young friend, as you call
him, is as poor as a church mouse. I know it. No, don't say, 'How?'
like Uncle Edward. He hasn't told me, but Nurse has--a heart-breaking
history of socks and things. There's the doctor's diagnosis, too. I
haven't forgotten. But the boy is too proud to cry poverty among
strangers. He keeps his end up like a man. To hear him talk, one would
think he not only hadn't a care in the world, but that he commanded the
earth. How can one help admiring the boy's pluck and--that's where my
reticence comes in--respecting the boy's reserve?"

"H'm!" said Colonel Winwood.

"But, good gracious, Jim, dear, supposing you--or any of us--men, I
mean--had been in this boy's extraordinary position--would you have
acted differently? You would have died rather than give your poverty
away to absolute strangers to whom you were indebted, in the way this
boy is indebted to us. Good God, jim"--she sent her dessert knife
skimming across the table--"don't you see? Any reference to poverty
would be an invitation--a veiled request for further help. To a
gentleman like Paul Savelli, the thing's unthinkable."

Colonel Winwood selected a fresh cigar, clipped off the end, and lit it
from a silver spirit lamp by his side. He blew out the first exquisite
puff--the smoker's paradise would be the one first full and fragrant,
virginal puff of an infinite succession of perfect cigars--looked
anxiously at the glowing point to see that it was exactly lighted, and
leaned back in his chair.

"What you say, dear," said he, "is plausible. Plausible almost to the
point of conviction. But there's a hole somewhere in your argument, I'm
sure, and I'm too tired after my journey to find it."

Thus, as the stars in their courses fought against Sisera, so did they
fight for Paul; and in both cases they used a woman as their instrument.

Colonel Winwood, in spite of a masculine air of superiority, joined
with the Archbishops and Cabinet Ministers above referred to in their
appreciation of his sister's judgment. After all, what business of his
were the private affairs of his involuntary guest? He paid him a visit
the next day, and found him lying on a couch by the sunny window, clad
in dressing gown and slippers. Paul rose politely, though he winced
with pain.

"Don't get up, please. I'm Colonel Winwood."

They shook hands. Paul began to wheel an armchair from the bedside, but
Colonel Winwood insisted on his lying down again and dre