dulated, but it had no
sympathetic chords; and therefore I could not call it musical or
pleasing. She thanked me in very exaggerated terms for having responded
to her appeal.

I exclaimed, rather impulsively, in reply--

"I expected to find the author of that pathetic letter in great distress,
and came, hoping to relieve; but I cannot be of any service here." I
glanced around the luxuriously appointed room, and then let my eyes rest
on her elaborate costume.

She smiled, "You are young, and have not yet learned that rags and
poverty seldom go hand in hand with the bitterest experiences of life."

"That is the only kind of trouble I am sufficiently experienced to meddle
with. For imaginary or abstract woe you should seek some older helper.
I would suggest Mrs. Flaxman. She has more patience with refined mourners
than I."

"Mrs. Flaxman could do me no good."

Tears stood in her eyes, making them more beautiful than ever, and quite
softening my heart.

"Won't you lay aside some of your wraps? I shall feel then as if you will
not desert me at any moment. The room is warm, and they are only an
incumbrance."

I complied, and removed my hat and fur cloak, which were beginning to
make me uncomfortably warm. She wheeled another easy-chair and bade me
take that; my eyes, grown suddenly keen, took in the fact that the velvet
covering was suited to my complexion.

"What artistic taste you must have when you are so fastidious about
harmony in colors," I said, admiringly.

"One might as well get all the possible consolation out of things. The
time for enjoying them is short, and very uncertain."

She drew a low ottoman and sat down close to me. "I have a long, sad
story to tell you, and I want to be within touch of your hand. You will
perhaps be too hard on me."

She sat, her face turned partly from me, gazing intently into the fire.
Perhaps she had a natural dread of going over a chapter in her life she
might wish had never been written.

Meanwhile the wonder kept growing on me why this exquisite woman should
come to me for sympathy. A feeling of pride, too, began swelling my heart
to think that I could be of use to others than the hungry and naked,
while I thought of the surprising account I should have to give at the
dinner-table that evening, of my adventure. My self-complacency was
destined to a rude shock. She turned to me suddenly, and asked, "How
old would you take me to be?" I looked my surprise, no doubt, b