And Mrs. Barkley, who had not only the courage but the audacity of her convictions, invited the parted lovers to tea, so they met for the first time at her house. Mrs. Barkley was the last person one would accuse of being romantic, and yet Dr. Lavendar saw fit to stop at her door that morning and say, "Matches are dangerous playthings, ma'am!" and Mrs. Barkley grew very red, and said that she couldn't imagine what he meant. However, the party went off well enough. Miss Jane Jay, who made a conscious fourth, expected some quiverings and blushings; but that was because she was young--comparatively. If she had been older she would have known better. Age, with shamefaced relief, has learned the solvent quality of Time. It is this quality which makes possible the contemplation of certain embarrassing heavenly reunions--where explanations of consolation must be made.... Thirty-one years of days, days full of personal concerns and interests, had blurred and softened and finally almost blotted out that one fierce day of angry parting; those thirty-one years of days had made this man and woman able to meet with a sort of calm, good-natured interest in each other. Miss Lydia--her black frizette over one smiling eye, her hands encased in white cotton gloves, a new ribbon at the throat of her very old alpaca--called him "William," with the most commonplace friendliness. He began with "Miss Sampson," but ended before supper was over with her first name, and even, once, just as they were going home, with "Lydy," at which she did start and blink for an instant, and Jane Jay thought a faint color came into her cheek. However, he did not offer to walk home with her, but bowed politely at Mrs. Barkley's gate, and would have betaken himself to the Tavern had not Mrs. Barkley, when he was half-way across the street, called after him. There was a flutter of uncertainty in her voice, for those words of Dr. Lavendar's (which she did not understand) "stuck," she said to herself, "in her crop." Mr. Rives came back and paused in the moonlight, looking up at Mrs. Barkley standing in the doorway. "I should be pleased, sir," she said, "to have a few words with you." "Certainly, ma'am," said Mr. Rives, in his soft voice, and followed her into the parlor. "Sit down," said Mrs. Barkley. William Rives sat down thoughtfully. A tall lamp on the heavy, claw-footed table emitted a feeble light through its ground-glass globe, and Mrs. Barkley stared at it a moment, as though for inspiration; then she said, in a deep bass: "Mr. Rives, I thought you might be interested in a certain little project. Some of us have thought that we would collect--a--a small sum--" Mr. Rives bowed; his smiling lips suddenly shut tight. "Perhaps you have not heard that our old friend Lydia Sampson is in reduced circumstances; and some of us thought that a small present of money-- "Ah--" said Mr. Rives.