Gilderman did not reply. He did not know what to reply. "No," said he, helplessly, "I don't." "And did you see Him yesterday?" she said. "Yes, I did." "And did He do anything more?" "No; I only spoke to Him and He spoke to me." "What did He speak to you about?" Again Gilderman thought. It all seemed to him now very foolish and very remote. He felt ashamed to tell her. He laughed. "I dare say you'll think me awfully ridiculous, Florence," he said. "Well, I'll tell you all about it." And so he did. She listened to him without saying a word until he ended. Then she pressed his hand. "Dear Henry," she said, smiling faintly, "you are so enthusiastic and so impulsive. And then you're so given to thinking about such things as this. But you oughtn't to let yourself be so led away." And then, after a moment of silent thinking, she said: "Of course you don't believe any such thing as that, do you? You don't believe that a man ought really to give away everything he has?" "Why, no," said Gilderman, "I don't think that. Indeed, I know a man shouldn't give away everything that belongs to him." And then he added: "For the matter of that, I couldn't give away everything I have, even if I wanted to do so." Mrs. Gilderman lay thinking for a while. "You don't think anybody saw you down there, do you?" "Why, no," said Gilderman; "at least, I think not." "It would be dreadful, you know, if anybody knew what you had been doing. Just think how everybody would talk and laugh. You oughtn't to give way to your impulses as you do, Henry. Some time you'll get into trouble by it." "Oh, I'm sure nobody saw me," said Gilderman, and then he was uncomfortably silent. It would, indeed, be very disagreeable to be guyed about such a thing. "I want you to promise something, Henry," said Mrs. Gilderman, suddenly. "What is it?" said Gilderman. "I want you to promise that you'll never undertake to do as that Man told you--to sell all that you have and give it to the poor." Gilderman laughed. "I think you can set your mind at rest as to that, Florence," he said. "But I want you to promise me--think of Reginald." Reginald, by-the-way, was the name into which the baby had been born. It was the name of Gilderman's baby brother, who had died almost in infancy and whom he could just remember. "Very well, my dear," said Gilderman, "I promise." "We must think always of little Reginald now," said Mrs. Gilderman; "we must remember that all we have is in trust for him. I want you to promise me, dear, because I don't want you to do anything rash. You are so impulsive--you poor, dear boy." Gilderman laughed. "Very well, my dear," he said; "I promise you faithfully that I won't try to sell a cent's worth, nor give away a dime to the poor more than I have to." Just then the nurse came in to say that Mrs. Caiaphas was down-stairs. "Go down and see her, Henry, won't you?" said Mrs. Gilderman, and Gilderman went, though reluctantly.