“Well, I do call that hard,” complained Mr. Perseus, “to charge a fellow with being untruthful when he was shaking in his shoes from terror at having perhaps let out too much of the truth.” Olive looked down at his big boots, knitting her brows, and then led the way into the house. “I’ll get you some dinner. I am sure you are hungry,” she said hospitably, it being about two o’clock in the afternoon. “I am hungry, starving, mind, body, and soul,” said her visitor in reply. “I’ll get a chicken-pie for you, that will go some way,” answered Olive with a laugh. “And if you will talk with me, that will go far to complete the work of charity,” said he. Olive brought him the food, and he set to work upon it, being evidently, as he said, very hungry. “Do you know I am beginning to look upon Perfection City as a sort of earthly paradise,” said Mr. Perseus. “Indeed.” “Yes, a paradise from which I am shut out. Have you any young men here, Mrs. Weston, unmarried men, or are they against your rules?” “No. Unmarried men are not against our rules,” said Olive archly. “We had one here lately, but we haven’t now.” “Why, what did you do with him?” asked Mr. Perseus, in some surprise. “I married him,” said Olive dimpling and blushing. “Lucky beggar!” remarked her visitor, turning again to his dinner. Mr. Perseus stayed some time, but refused Olive’s invitation to wait to see her husband, saying as an excuse that he had a long way to ride home. Olive wanted to know where he lived, but he laughingly put her off. He would not tell her, lest she should discover his real name, and then much of the romance of his life would be destroyed. “You don’t know what this is to me, and how when I am leading my lonely life, I recall every word and look and again go through these meetings, Mrs. Weston. I suppose it seems silly to you, but remember, human companionship is man’s most precious inheritance, and those who have but little of it prize what they have at perhaps an extravagant figure. Did you ever hear of Silvio Pellico?” he asked abruptly. “No,” replied Olive. “Well, he was a prisoner entirely shut off from human companionship, and he at last made friends with a spider, and at length the spider was crushed by the turnkey’s foot, and Silvio wept tears of anguish. I am like a prisoner out here on this desolate prairie.” “And am I like the horrible spider, then?” said Olive brightly. “Mrs. Weston!” he exclaimed reproachfully. “I have opened my heart to you because I felt that you could feel with me, although the world might count us as strangers, but I thought you would understand what I meant even when I blundered through the expression of my thoughts. This is the first time you have misunderstood me. But I believe it was only pretended misunderstanding and that you do know what I meant.”