"But I soon gave Mr. Marble, or whatever his name was, a very different idea of the way he should behave when he came to see a lady. I let him know that I preferred to manage my affairs and select my own objects of charity, without being dictated to by any one, and that I did not propose to help anarchists. And I soon gave Mr. McNeil to understand whom he had to deal with. I ordered him turned out at once--instantly." She was now addressing me. She was so well satisfied with her position that I must have looked astonished, and I had not at first a word to say. This she took for acquiescence. "That was, perhaps, the greatest piece of insolence I ever knew!" she continued. "Don't you think so?" "Well, no, I do not," I said bluntly. For a moment or so her face was a perfect blank, then it was filled with amazement. Her whole person changed. Her head went up--her eyes flashed, her color deepened. "Oh!" she said. "Perhaps, we look at the matter from different standpoints?" rearing back more stiffly than ever. "Unquestionably, madam. I happen to know John Marvel, the gentleman who called on you, very well, and I know him to be one of the best men in the world. I know that he supported that poor family out of his own small income, and when they were turned out of their house, fed them until he could get the father some work to do. He was not an anarchist, but a hard-working Scotchman, who had been ill and had lost his place." "Oh!" she said--this time with renewed superciliousness, raising her lorgnon to observe some newcomers. "Perhaps, you happen also to know McNeil's counsel--perhaps, you are the man yourself?" she added insolently. [Illustration: "Perhaps you are the man yourself?" she added insolently.] I bowed low. "I am." The truth swept over her like a flood. Before she recovered, I bowed my adieux, of which, so far as I could see, she took no notice. She turned to Pushkin, as Miss Leigh, from behind a high-backed chair, held out her hand to me. "Well, poor McNeil's done for now," she said in an undertone. But as the latter smiled in my eyes, I did not care what her aunt said. "Ah! my dear Count, here is the tea at last," I heard our hostess say, and then she added solicitously, "I have not seen you for so long. Why have you denied yourself to your friends? You have quite gotten over your accident of the spring? I read about it in the papers at the time. Such a noble thing to have stopped those horses. You must tell me about it. How did it happen?" I could not help turning to give Pushkin one look, and he hesitated and stammered. I came out filled with a new sense of what was meant by the curses against the Pharisees. As I was walking along I ran into Wolffert. "Ah! You are the very man," he exclaimed. "It is Providence! I was just thinking of you, and you ran into my arms. It is Fate."