"Ah," said Mrs. Holdfast, "that is the way of you men. So stern, and strict, and proper, that you never forget yourself. It is because you are strong, and wise--but you miss a great deal--yes, indeed, indeed you do! It would spoil the sunshine if one stopped while one was enjoying the light and warmth, to ask why, and what, and wherefore. Don't you think it would? Such a volatile, impressionable creature as Lydia Holdfast does not stop to do such a wise and foolish thing--we can be both wise and foolish in a breath, let me tell you. No; I enjoy, and am happy, without wanting to know why. There! I am showing myself to you, as if you were my oldest friend. _You_ would not do the same by me. You are steadier, and wiser, and not half so happy--no, not half, not half so happy! O, I wish I had been born a man!" Amused, and, as he had declared to her, charmed out of himself, our Reporter said, somewhat jocosely, "Why, what would you have done if you had been born a man instead of a woman?" "I am afraid," she said, in a half-whisper, and with her finger on her lips, as though enjoining him not to betray her, "I am afraid I should have been a dreadful rake." Our Reporter resisted the beguilement of the current into which the conversation had drifted, although he would have been entitled to much excuse had he dallied a little in this vein with the charming and child-like woman. "You forget your child," he said; "had you been born a man----" Before he could complete the sentence, Mrs. Holdfast rushed out of the room, and in a few moments returned with the child in her arms. She sat in a rocking chair, and fondled the boy-baby, and kissed him, and sang to him. It was a picture of perfect and beautiful motherhood. "Forget my child!" she murmured. "Forget my baby! You must either be mad or insincere to say such a thing. Ask the darling's forgiveness immediately." "I do," said our Reporter, kissing the baby, "and yours. You have proved yourself a true woman. But my time is getting short, and I have already trespassed too long upon yours. Let us continue the conversation about Mr. Holdfast." She instantly became serious, and with the baby in her arms, said, "Yes! Well!" "The landlady of the house," continued our Reporter, "in which he lodged has declared that he had but one visitor--a lady, closely veiled." "So I have read in the papers," said Mrs. Holdfast. "Is nothing known about her--where she came from, where she went to, whether she was a lady or a common woman?" "Nothing is known," he replied. "Are you sure?" "Quite sure, as far as my information goes. One person says that she was tall, another that she was short; another that she was fair, another that she was dark--though they all agree that she never raised her veil. There is absolutely not a dependable clue upon which a person can work; nothing reliable can be gathered from statements so conflicting. What I wish to know is, whether you yourself have any suspicion?"