“But he could not live by his trade,” cried Jane.

“Well, cobbling is looking up now.  In any case, you have pauperized him.”

“That’s bad—­bad!  Now, in Virginia we used to feed everybody who came along!” said the judge, shaking his head.  “But I’ve learned wisdom in the cities.  Every bit of bread given to a beggar degrades human nature and rots society to the core.”

“But suppose he is starving?” urged the captain.  “The Good Samaritan wasn’t afraid of pauperizing that poor devil on the road.”

“Let him starve.  He will have preserved his self-respect.  The Good Samaritan knew nothing of political economy, sir.”

Jane left her breakfast untasted.  She understood nothing about political economy, but she saw that she had done irreparable injury to these people whom she had tried to serve—­God knew with what anxiety and tenderness of heart.  In one case, at least, there had been no mistake.

“Did you see Phil?” she said, turning with brightening countenance to Miss Fleming.  “We intend to have Phil educated.  He is such a keen-witted little fellow.”

Miss Fleming laughed outright now:  “Mr. Neckart’s protege?  Yes, I saw him.  He has been stealing tobacco and money from Dave, it appears, ever since he came, and was found out this morning.  There was a horrible row in the stable as I passed.”

“Of course he stole!” said the judge triumphantly.  “I tell you, the more efforts you make to reform the dangerous classes the more hardened you will grow.  It’s hopeless—­hopeless!”

Her other listeners each promptly presented their theory.  Like all intelligent Americans, they were provided with theories on every social problem, and were ready to hang it on an individual stable-boy or any other nail of a fact which might offer.  Jane alone sat silent.  She did not hear when her father spoke to her once or twice.

“You are disappointed,” Mr. Van Ness’s soft soothing voice murmured in her ear.  “I know how these baffled efforts chill the heart.  I will explain to you the machinery which I propose to bring to bear on these classes.”

“I don’t know anything about machinery or classes.  Twiss and Betty were friends of mine, and I tried to help them, and have failed.”

Miss Fleming, who was watching her furtively, saw her dull eyes raised presently and rest on the captain, who with a red face and bursts of laughter was telling one of his interminable stories.

“This girl,” Cornelia said to herself, “has everything which I have not—­beauty, wealth, Bruce Neckart’s love.  Yet she looks at that weak old man as if he were all that was left her in the world.”  She had put Jane before on the general basis of antipathy which she had to everything in the world that was not masculine, but the feeling had kindled since last night into active dislike.