"Mrs. Wyndham," began Vancouver again after a pause, "I have an idea--do not laugh, it is a very good one, I am sure." "I am not laughing." "Why not marry Sibyl Brandon to John Harrington?" Mrs. Wyndham stared for a moment. "How perfectly ridiculous!" she cried at last. "Why?" "They would starve, to begin with." "I doubt it," said Vancouver. "Why, I am sure Mr. Harrington never had more than five thousand a year in his life. You could not marry on that, you know--possibly." "No; but Miss Brandon is very well off--rich, in fact." "I thought she had nothing." "She must have thirty or forty thousand a year from her mother, at the least. You know Charlie never did anything in his life; he lived on his wife's money, and Miss Brandon must have it all." Mrs. Wyndham did not appear surprised at the information; she hardly seemed to think it of any importance. "I knew she had something," she repeated; "but I am glad if you are right. But that does not make it any more feasible to marry her to Mr. Harrington." "I thought that starvation was your objection," said Vancouver. "Oh, no; not that only. Besides, he would not marry her." "He would be very foolish not to, if he had the chance," remarked Vancouver. "Perhaps he might not even have the chance--perhaps she would not marry him," said Mrs. Wyndham, thoughtfully. "Besides, I do not think John Harrington ought to marry yet; he has other things to do." Mr. Vancouver seemed about to say something in answer, but he checked himself; possibly he did not speak because he saw some one enter the room at that moment, and was willing to leave the discussion of John Harrington to a future time. In fact, the person who entered the room should have been the very last to hear the conversation that was taking place, for it was Miss Brandon herself, though Mr. Vancouver had not recognized her at once. There were greetings and hand-shakings, and then Miss Brandon sat down by the fire and spread out her hands as though to warm them. She looked white and cold. There are women in the world, both young and old, who seem to move among us like visions from another world, a world that is purer and fairer, and more heavenly than this one in which the rest of us move. It is hard to say what such women have that marks them so distinctly; sometimes it is beauty, sometimes only a manner, often it is both. It is very certain that we know and feel their influence, and that many men fear it as something strange and contrary to the common order of things, a living reproach and protest against all that is base and earthly and badly human.