Then after all there might be some hope for old Silas Tomlin. And his instinct may have given him an inkling of the remedy for his particular form of the whimsies, for it was not many days before he came knocking at the lady's door, where he was very graciously received, and most delightfully entertained. Both mother and daughter did their utmost to make the hours pass pleasantly, and they succeeded to some extent. For awhile Silas was suspicious, then he would resign himself to the temptations of good music and bright conversation. Presently he would remember his suspicions, and straighten himself up in his chair, and assume an attitude of defiance; and so the first evening passed. When Silas found himself in the street on his way home, he stopped still and reflected. "Now, what in the ding-nation is that woman up to? What is she trying to do, I wonder? Why, she's as different from what she was when I first knew her as a butterfly is from a caterpillar. Why, there ain't a pearter woman on the continent. No wonder Paul lost his head in that house! She's up to something, and I'll find out what it is." Silas was always suspicious, but on this occasion he bethought himself of the fact that he had not been dragged into the house; he had been under no compulsion to knock at the door; indeed, he had taken advantage of the slightest hint on the part of the daughter--a hint that may have been a mere form of politeness. He remembered, too, that he had frequently gone by the house at night, and had heard the piano going, accompanied by the singing of one or the other of the ladies. His reflections would have made him ashamed of himself, but he had never cultivated such feelings. He left that sort of thing to the women and children. In no long time he repeated his visit, and met with the same pleasurable experience. On this occasion, Eugenia remained in the parlour only a short time. For a diversion, the mother played a few of the old-time tunes on the piano, and sang some of the songs that Silas had loved in his youth. This done, she wheeled around on the stool, and began to talk about Paul. "If I had a son like that," she said, "I should be immensely proud of him." "You have a fine daughter," Silas suggested, by way of consolation. She shrugged her shoulders. "Yes, but you know we always want that which we have not. Yet they say that envy is among the mortal sins." "Well, a sin's a sin, I reckon," remarked Silas. "Oh, no! there are degrees in sin. I used to know a preacher who could run the scale of evil-doing and thinking, just as I can trip along the notes on the piano." "They once tried to make a preacher out of me," remarked Silas, "but when I slipped in the church one day and went up into the pulpit, I found it was a great deal too big for me." "They make them larger now," said the lady, "so that they will hold the exhorter and the horrible example at the same time."