d been open, and the
air was fresh, and the flowers were delicious, and the lamp was softer
and pleasanter than the gas. I went to break up the coal and make the
fire blaze, and Richard to shut the window down.

When I had pulled a chair up to the fire and seated myself, he stood
leaning on the mantelpiece, on the other side from me. I felt sure he
meant to go, the minute that he could get away--a committee meeting, no
doubt, or some such nauseous fraud. But he should not go away until he
had told me, that was certain.

"What is it that you wanted to ask me about, Pauline?" he said, rather
abruptly.

My heart gave a great thump; how could he have known? Oh, it was the
business that I had spoken of in my stupid note. Yes; and I began to
explain to him what I wanted to do about the hospital.

He looked infinitely relieved. I believe he had an idea it was something
very different. My explanation could not have added much to his
reverence for my business ability. I was very indefinite, and could not
tell him whether it was hundreds or thousands that I meant.

He said, with a smile, he thought it must be thousands, as city property
was so very high. He was very kind, however, about the matter, and did
not discourage me at all. He always seemed to approve of my desire to
give away in charity, and, within bounds, always furthered such plans of
doing good. He said he would look into it, and would write me word next
week what his impression was; and then, I think, he meant to go away.

Then I began talking on every subject I could think of, hoping some of
the roads would lead to Rome. But none of them led there, and I was
in despair.

"Oh, don't you want to look at some photographs?" I said, at last,
thinking I saw an opening for my wedge. I got the package, and he came
to the table and looked at them, standing up. They were naturally of
much more interest to me than to him, being of places and people with
which I had so lately been familiar.

But he looked at them very kindly, and asked a good many questions about
them.

"Look at this," I said, handing him an Antwerp peasant-woman in her
hideous bonnet. "Isn't that ridiculously like Charlotte Benson? I bought
it because it was so singular a resemblance."

"It is like her," he said, thoughtfully, looking at it long. "The mouth
is a little larger and the eyes further apart. But it is a most striking
likeness. It might almost have been taken for her."

"How is she, a