When Miss Belinda descended the stairs, a short time afterward, her ears were greeted by the sound of brisk conversation, in which the Rev. Arthur Poppleton appeared to be taking part with before-unheard-of spirit. When he arose at her entrance, there was in his manner an air of mild buoyancy which astonished her beyond measure. When he re-seated himself, he seemed quite to forget the object of his visit for some minutes, and was thus placed in the embarrassing position of having to refer to his note-book. Having done so, and found that he had called to ask assistance for the family of one of his parishioners, he recovered himself somewhat. As he explained the exigencies of the case, Octavia listened. "Well," she said, "I should think it would make you quite uncomfortable, if you see things like that often." "I regret to say I do see such things only too frequently," he answered. "Gracious!" she said; but that was all. He was conscious of being slightly disappointed at her apathy; and perhaps it is to be deplored that he forgot it afterward, when Miss Belinda had bestowed her mite, and the case was dismissed for the time being. He really did forget it, and was beguiled into making a very long call, and enjoying himself as he had never enjoyed himself before. When, at length, he was recalled to a sense of duty by a glance at the clock, he had already before his eyes an opening vista of delights, taking the form of future calls, and games of croquet played upon Miss Belinda's neatly-shaven grass-plat. He had bidden the ladies adieu in the parlor, and, having stepped into the hall, was fumbling rather excitedly in the umbrella-stand for his own especially slender clerical umbrella, when he was awakened to new rapture by hearing Miss Octavia's tone again. He turned, and saw her standing quite near him, looking at him with rather an odd expression, and holding something in her hand. "Oh!" she said. "See here,--those people." "I--beg pardon," he hesitated. "I don't quite understand." "Oh, yes!" she answered. "Those desperately poor wretches, you know, with fever, and leaks in their house, and all sorts of disagreeable things the matter with them. Give them this, won't you?" "This" was a pretty silk purse, through whose meshes he saw the gleam of gold coin. "That?" he said. "You don't mean--isn't there a good deal--I beg pardon--but really"-- "Well, if they are as poor as you say they are, it won't be too much," she replied. "I don't suppose they'll object to it: do you?" She extended it to him as if she rather wished to get it out of her hands. "You'd better take it," she said. "I shall spend it on something I don't need, if you don't. I'm always spending money on things I don't care for afterward." He was filled with remorse, remembering that he had thought her apathetic. "I--I really thought you were not interested at all," he burst forth. "Pray forgive me. This is generous indeed."