"But she confines her benefits to the poor and bereaved solely. She seems to forget the prosperous may be heavy-hearted," Mr. Winthrop suggested with a smile. "I do not intermeddle with that which lies beyond my skill to relieve. Any person can relieve poverty if they have money." "Possibly you are wise to confine your helpfulness to the simpler cases of sorrow." "I think the griefs of the rich are mostly imaginary and selfish. In this beautiful world, if we have our freedom, and health, and plenty of money, we are simply foolish to be down-hearted; only when death takes away our dear ones; and after a time the pain he gives ceases to smart." "You are very practical, Medoline, and look through spectacles dipped in sunshine." "Well, I believe she is right," Mrs. Flaxman said, with an air of sudden conviction. "We are not half thankful enough for our blessings and persist in wearing the peas in our shoes for penance, when we might as well soften them like that wise-hearted Irishman. It would be a blessing if Medoline had medicine for other griefs than those poverty causes." I saw her cast a meaning look at Mr. Winthrop, which brought the color to my cheek, and set me to soberly thinking if I might not bring him surcease from bitter thoughts, and then it occurred to me, with all this commendation was there not grave danger of my getting uplifted unduly? "It seems to me that you and Mr. Winthrop go to extremes in your estimate of me. First, you keep me so low in the valley of humiliation that I well nigh lose heart, and then you hoist me on a pedestal, making me grow dizzy with conceit. I suggest that we pass a law not to talk about each other at all." "But you cannot hope to be perfect unless wise friends point out your foibles," Mr. Winthrop assured me. "I have never expected to reach such a height. It would be so lonely for me, you know--no society of my own kind, save here and there a poor and humble soul," I said, wickedly. "Nevertheless, one should make the effort to stand on the top round of the ladder of human excellence." "It is a long ladder, and the climb is wearisome, and death soon interposes and ends our ambition," I said, wearily. "But you have such perfect assurance respecting the to-morrow of death, you must believe that excellence gained here will be so much capital to carry with you into that life; but you implicit believers very often voice your faith rather than live it," Mr. Winthrop remarked, with a touch of his accustomed sarcasm. "Mr. Bowen lives his quite as well as he talks it, but he is the nearest perfection of any human being I ever expect to meet." "That is hard on our set, Mrs. Flaxman. Medoline, it seems, has fished out of the slums a veritable saint, and handsome as he is good. If I remember right he is a widower." "Yes, certainly, he is the one she got the suit of clothes for when she was in New York." He turned to me abruptly and asked, "How old is he?"