The longer he thought about it, the more unwilling he was to act upon his own judgment alone, and so he turned to the one unfailing counsellor of his life, his sister Hilda. With him, to will was to do, so within an hour he was in his sister's drawing-room, and not five minutes later Silvia Holland entered and was warmly greeted by Mrs. Ramsey. The day was dismal and the rain was descending in a steady downpour that gave no promise of ever ceasing; it was late afternoon, and Mrs. Ramsey said cordially, "Let us have tea in my sitting-room; nobody else will come such a day as this, and it will be so much more cosy. I distrust from his air of supernatural gravity that my brother has something on his mind----" "Then I will be _de trop_" said Miss Holland. "I will amuse myself in the library until you are at liberty. I was awfully glad to get your 'phone message to come over, for it's a wretched day, and I was wondering where I should go for tea as I came up town from my office. Have your conference and never mind about me." "Indeed," said Jack eagerly, "if you would be so kind as to give me your opinion also on the matter I have called to consult my sister about, you would confer a great favor," and even as he spoke he knew it was for her quick comprehension he had been unconsciously wishing all the time. She laughed and assented graciously, and they followed Mrs. Ramsey to her own charming little room, as dainty and distinctive as its owner. Upon the tea-tray there were cigarettes, and Dr. Earl rather wondered whether Silvia would accept, but she shook her head. "No," she said lightly, "I emulate men's virtues, not their vices; maybe my nerves may need alternate sedatives and stimulants some day, but as yet I hardly know that I have any." Hilda lit one rather languidly. "My doctor says it isn't so much nerves as lack of nerve with me; I don't know what you call it, but I confess I find the smoke-wreaths pleasant; you won't join me either, Jack? Well, let us have the story in all its native simplicity and be sure you nothing extenuate nor set down aught in malice." "I am told," he said, "that no well-bred New Yorker makes literary allusions, and that to quote Shakespeare is to relegate oneself to his century; however, this is the problem," and then he read them the letter. Hilda was openly pleased. "Why not?" she said. "It seems to me a very courteous and appreciative note, and I should think you would enjoy speaking before that kind of an audience, all of them picked men, trained and scientific and able to take in shades of meaning and distinctions that are wasted on the laity. Unless you are keeping something back, I should say, accept by all means. But are you?" He paused. "In just a moment, Hilda. How does it strike you, Miss Holland?"