“I presume he is very poor, else you would not take such strong interest in him.”

“He has no money.  In other respects he is the richest person I ever knew.”

“Ah, he is a most remarkable individual.  However, I dare say a little money will not come amiss to him, notwithstanding his wealth.  You will want another quarter’s instalment.”

“Is my quarter up?” I caught Mrs. Flaxman’s warning look, and spoke rather guiltily.

“Not quite, but this is a peculiarly urgent case.  Probably he is wholly dependent on your bounty.”

“Doctor Mackenzie told me that the doctor in New York won’t charge anything for removing the cataract from his eyes.”

“I see you have gone about it, in a very businesslike manner.  Does MacKenzie charge for his advice?”

“Why, no, indeed; surely all men are not heartless.”

“In money matters they are, more or less; possibly widowers should be excepted.”

“It is a pity some others should not lose a wife or two.  A few might require to lose half a dozen, at least.”

“That would be cruel.  Think what an upsetting of one’s plans and business arrangements generally that would entail.”

“It might prove an excellent discipline.  Nothing short of an earthquake, I believe, would teach some men kindliness and their brotherhood with pain.”

He received my remark with such unruffled serenity that I was angry with myself for engaging in a wordy warfare with him, when he was sure to be victorious.  He sat with us for a short time after dinner, chatting so graciously that I came to the conclusion he was not, after all, so out of sympathy with my little benevolent projects as his words often implied.  When he rose to go he came to me, and, taking out his pocket-book counted out fifty dollars and laid them in my hand.  He paused a moment with the pocket-book still open.

“This is a special case, little one,” he said, kindly.  “May I be permitted to contribute something for your friend?”

He laid another note in my hand, but I did not wait to see the amount.  I started to my feet impulsively.

“Oh, Mr. Winthrop, I must confess to you.  I have not been real honest.  Won’t you forgive me?”

I felt the tears rush to my eyes, and my lips quivered like some frightened child’s, making me feel sadly ashamed of myself.  He looked startled.

“What is it, Medoline?”

“I earned the money myself.  I have been selling pictures.”

“Is that the worst offense you have to confess?” he asked, with a keen look into my upturned face.

“It is the worst just now,” I faltered.

“Very well, then, I will forgive you; but I must stipulate to see your pictures before they go to market after this, and also that you consult with me first before launching into other business enterprises.  You might be tempted with something not quite so suitable for a young lady as picture-selling.”