k its effect with the scrupulous
but tender parent.

'I am willing to admit, my dear,' said Mr. Whiston one evening, _a propos_
of nothing at all, 'that the falsehood in that young man's letter gave
proof of a certain delicacy.'

'Thank you, father,' replied Rose, very quietly and simply.

It was next morning that the father posted a formal, proper,
self-respecting note of invitation, which bore results.

A POOR GENTLEMAN

It was in the drawing-room, after dinner. Mrs. Charman, the large and
kindly hostess, sank into a chair beside her little friend Mrs. Loring, and
sighed a question.

'How do you like Mr. Tymperley?'

'Very nice. Just a little peculiar.'

'Oh, he _is_ peculiar! Quite original. I wanted to tell you about him
before we went down, but there wasn't time. Such a very old friend of ours.
My dear husband and he were at school together--Harrovians. The sweetest,
the most affectionate character! Too good for this world, I'm afraid; he
takes everything so seriously. I shall never forget his grief at my poor
husband's death.--I'm telling Mrs. Loring about Mr. Tymperley, Ada.'

She addressed her married daughter, a quiet young woman who reproduced Mrs.
Charman's good-natured countenance, with something more of intelligence,
the reflective serenity of a higher type.

'I'm sorry to see him looking so far from well,' remarked Mrs. Weare, in
reply.

'He never had any colour, you know, and his life... But I must tell you,'
she resumed to Mrs. Loring. 'He's a bachelor, in comfortable circumstances,
and--would you believe it?--he lives quite alone in one of the distressing
parts of London. Where is it, Ada?'

'A poor street in Islington.'

'Yes. There he lives, I'm afraid in shocking lodgings--it must be, _so_
unhealthy--just to become acquainted with the life of poor people, and be
helpful to them. Isn't it heroic? He seems to have given up his whole life
to it. One never meets him anywhere; I think ours is the only house where
he's seen. A noble life! He never talks about it. I'm sure you would never
have suspected such a thing from his conversation at dinner?'

'Not for a moment,' answered Mrs. Loring, astonished. 'He wasn't very
gossipy--I gathered that his chief interests were fretwork and foreign
politics.'

Mrs. Weare laughed. 'The very man! When I was a little girl he used to make
all sorts of pretty things for me with his fret-saw; and when I grew old
enough, he instructed me in the ba