"Do you detect any blemish in them?" he asked. "I do not understand you," said the stranger. "In those balls. There was an expression of disapproval on your face as you gazed at them." "I disapprove of them altogether," said the stranger. "I am sorry, but we cannot please everybody. I am not responsible for the insignia; you will find the origin in the armorial bearings of the Medici. That is a beautiful hat you have on your head." The stranger stared at him. "Really," continued Aaron, blandly, "a beautiful hat; it must have cost a guinea. A hat is a fine protection against the hot rays of the sun; a protection, also, against the wind and the rain. But in this room, as you may observe, we have neither wind, nor rain, nor sun; and you may also observe that there is a lady present." The stranger, reddening slightly, removed his hat, and placed it on the table. "My wife," then said Aaron. The stranger inclined his head, with the air of a man acknowledging an introduction to one of a lower station. The manner of this acknowledgment was not lost upon Aaron. "My wife," he repeated courteously, "Mrs. Cohen." "I see," said the stranger, glancing again at Rachel with condescension. "With your permission I will take a seat." It was distinctly at variance with the hospitable instincts of Aaron Cohen that he did not immediately respond to this request. "You have the advantage of us," he said. "I have had the pleasure of introducing my wife to you. Afford me the pleasure of introducing you to my wife." With an ungracious air the stranger handed Aaron a visiting card, upon which was inscribed the name of Mr. Edward Whimpole, and in a corner the word "Churchwarden." Mr. Whimpole's movements were slow, and intended to be dignified, but Aaron exhibited no impatience. "My dear, Mr. Edward Whimpole, churchwarden." Rachel bowed gracefully, and Aaron, with an easy motion of his hand, invited Mr. Whimpole to a chair, in which he seated himself. Then Aaron placed a chair for his wife, and took one himself, and prepared to listen to what Mr. Whimpole had to say. Mr. Whimpole was a large-framed man with a great deal of flesh on his face; his eyes were light, and he had no eyebrows worth speaking of. The best feature in his face was his mouth, and the most insignificant his nose, which was really not a fair nose for a man of his bulk. It was an added injury inflicted upon him by nature that it was very thin at the end, as though it had been planed on both sides. But then, as Aaron had occasion to remark, we don't make our own noses. A distinct contrast presented itself in the two noses which, if the figure of speech may be allowed, now faced each other.