I looked at her. She was over sixty, and there was the unmistakable air about her that told of better days. She was starving in a little room situated in a little court--not St. James's. She owed a month's rent to people who were poor and ill, and who had two epileptics in the family; and now their worries were increased by the loss of rent, and the knowledge that they had a starving "lady" upstairs. She had brought down to the abyss to keep her company a grandchild, a pretty boy of seven. I sat still, and she continued: "I know I am poor, but still I have some self-respect, and I will not be insulted. References, indeed!" "Well, madam," I at length ventured to say, "you sought my help; I did not seek you." "Yes; and I made a great mistake. Sir, are you going?" "No, madam, I am not going at present, for I am going to pay the rent you owe the poor, suffering people below. Shame on you! Have you no thought for them? How are they to pay their rent if yours remains unpaid? Please don't put on any airs, and don't insult me, or I will have you and the child taken to the workhouse. Find me your rent-book." She sat down and cried. I called the child to me, and from my bag produced some cake, fruit, and sweets, filling the child's pinafore. He instantly began to eat, and running to the irate lady, said: "Look, grandma, what the gentleman has given me! Have some--do have some, grandma." That was oil on the fire. "I knew you were no gentleman; now I know that you are a coward. You know that I cannot take them away from the child." I said: "I should be ashamed of you if you had, and I should have left your room and never re-entered it. See how the child is enjoying those grapes! Do have some with him. Let us be friends. Bring your grandma some grapes." And as the child came to her, I saw the light of love in her old eyes--that wonderful love of a grandmother. The child's enjoyment of the food conquered her: the child "beguiled her, and she did eat"; but she considered I had taken a mean advantage, and she never thoroughly forgave me--never, though we became cool friends. I found the utmost difficulty in obtaining her confidence, although I visited her many times, and removed her most pressing wants. She was always on heights to which I could not hope to attain, and she treated me with becoming, but freezing, dignity. I wanted to be of assistance to her, but she made my work difficult and my task thankless. When I called upon her one day to pay a week's rent, etc., she said in a lofty way: "Small assistance is of little use to me, but I can't expect anything better from one in your position." I put up with the snub, and humbly told her that it would be possible for me to do more if she would condescend to give me the names and addresses of her friends.