“The business of getting a suitable companion, and the pleasure or duty of relieving poor people, are two different things, Lydia.” “True, Lucian. When will Miss Goff call?” “This evening. Mind; nothing is settled as yet. If you think better of it on seeing her you have only to treat her as an ordinary visitor and the subject will drop. For my own part, I prefer her sister; but she will not leave Mrs. Goff, who has not yet recovered from the shock of her husband’s death.” Lydia looked reflectively at the little volume in her hand, and seemed to think out the question of Miss Goff. Presently, with an air of having made up her mind, she said, “Can you guess which of Goethe’s characters you remind me of when you try to be worldly-wise for my sake?” “When I try--What an extraordinary irrelevance! I have not read Goethe lately. Mephistopheles, I suppose. But I did not mean to be cynical.” “No; not Mephistopheles, but Wagner--with a difference. Wagner taking Mephistopheles instead of Faust for his model.” Seeing by his face that he did not relish the comparison, she added, “I am paying you a compliment. Wagner represents a very clever man.” “The saving clause is unnecessary,” he said, somewhat sarcastically. “I know your opinion of me quite well, Lydia.” She looked quickly at him. Detecting the concern in her glance, he shook his head sadly, saying, “I must go now, Lydia. I leave you in charge of the housekeeper until Miss Goff arrives.” She gave him her hand, and a dull glow came into his gray jaws as he took it. Then he buttoned his coat and walked gravely away. As he went, she watched the sun mirrored in his glossy hat, and drowned in his respectable coat. She sighed, and took up Goethe again.