I now began to plan how I was to meet my young lady on neutral and equal ground, for meet her I must. When I first met her I could have boldly introduced myself, for all my smutted face; now Love made me modest. When I met her, I scarcely dared to look into her eyes; I began to think of the letters of introduction I had, which I had thrown into my trunk. One of them was to Mrs. Argand, a lady whom I assumed to be the same lofty person I had seen mentioned in the papers as one of the leaders among the fashionable set, and also as one of the leaders in all public charitable work. It had, indeed, occurred to me to associate her vaguely, first with the private-car episode, and then with my poor client's landlord, the Argand Estate; but the "Argand Estate" appeared a wholly impersonal machine of steel; her reputation in the newspapers for charity disposed of this idea. Indeed, Wolffert had said that there were many Mrs. Argands in the city, and there were many Argands in the directory. I presented my letter and was invited to call on a certain day, some two weeks later. She lived in great style, in a ponderous mansion of unhewn stone piled up with prison-like massiveness, surrounded by extensive grounds, filled with carefully tended, formal flower-beds. A ponderous servant asked my name and, with eyes on vacancy, announced me loudly as "Mr. Glaze." The hostess was well surrounded by callers. I recognized her the instant I entered as the large lady of the private car. Both she and her jewels were the same. Also I knew instantly that she was the "Argand Estate," which I had scored so, and I was grateful to the servant for miscalling my name. Her sumptuous drawing-rooms were sprinkled with a handsomely dressed company who sailed in, smiled around, sat on the edge of chairs, chattered for some moments, grew pensive, uttered a few sentences, spread their wings, and sailed out with monotonous regularity and the solemn air of a duty performed. There was no conversation with the hostess--only, as I observed from my coign of vantage, an exchange of compliments and flattery. Most of the callers appeared either to be very intimate or not to know each other at all, and when they could not gain the ear of the hostess, they simply sat stiffly in their chairs and looked straight before them, or walked around and inspected the splendid bric-à-brac with something of an air of appraisement.