Margaret Ellis did not know what to say.  She thought of the marquis; and Mrs. Winslow poured out her story:  “He ’ain’t never said a word to me till this morning.  But don’t I know?  Don’t I know who looked out so careful for her investments?  Don’t I know who was always looking out for her interest, silent, and always keeping himself in the background?  Why, she couldn’t even buy a cow that he wa’n’t looking round to see that she got a good one!  ’Twas him saw the gardener, and kept him from buying that cow with tuberculosis, ’cause he knew about the herd.  He knew by finding out.  He worshipped the very cows she owned, you may say, and I’ve seen him patting and feeding up her dogs; it’s to our house that big mastiff always goes every night.  Mrs. Ellis, it ain’t often that a woman gits love such as my son is offering, only he da’sn’t offer it, and it ain’t often a woman is loved by such a good man as my son.  He ’ain’t got any bad habits; he’ll die before he wrongs anybody; and he has got the sweetest temper you ever see; and he’s the tidiest man about the house you could ask, and the promptest about meals.”

Mrs. Ellis looked at her flushed face, and sent another flood of color into it, for she said, “Mrs. Winslow, I don’t know how much good I may be able to do, but I am on your side.”

Her eyes followed the little black figure when it crossed the lawn.  She wondered whether her advice was good, for she had counselled that Winslow come over in the evening.

“Maggie,” said a voice.  Lorania was in the doorway.  “Maggie,” she said, “I ought to tell you that I heard every word.”

“Then I can tell you,” cried Mrs. Ellis, “that he is fifty times more of a man than the marquis, and loves you fifty thousand times better!”

Lorania made no answer, not even by a look.  What she felt, Mrs. Ellis could not guess.  Nor was she any wiser when Winslow appeared at her gate, just as the sun was setting.

“I didn’t think I would better intrude on Miss Hopkins,” said he, “but perhaps you could tell me how she is this evening.  My mother told me how kind you were, and perhaps you—­you would advise if I might venture to send Miss Hopkins some flowers.”

Out of the kindness of her heart Mrs. Ellis averted her eyes from his face; thus she was able to perceive Lorania saunter out of the Hopkins gate.  So changed was she by the bicycle practice that, wrapped in her niece’s shawl, she made Margaret think of the girl.  An inspiration flashed to her; she knew the cashier’s dependence on his eye-glasses, and he was not wearing them.

“If you want to know how Miss Hopkins is, why not speak to her niece now?” said she.

He started.  He saw Miss Sibyl, as he supposed, and he went swiftly down the street.  “Miss Sibyl!” he began, “may I ask how is your aunt?”—­and then she turned.

She blushed, then she laughed aloud.  “Has the bicycle done so much for me?” said she.