“Have you ever known a bit of a slim thing”--he made an odd embracing gesture with his arm--“the size that you could pick up with one hand and set on your knee as if she was a child”--the duke remained still, knowing this was only the beginning and pricking up his ears as he took a rapid kaleidoscopic view of all the “Ladies” in the neighborhood, and as hastily waved them aside--“a bit of a thing that some way seems to mean it all to you--and moves the world?” The conclusion was one which brought the incongruous touch of maturity into his face. “Not one of the `Ladies,”' the duke was mentally summing the matter up. “Certainly not Lady Joan, after all. Not, I think, even the young person in the department store.” He leaned back in his corner the better to inspect his companion directly. “You have, I see,” he replied quietly. “Once I myself did.” (He had cried out, “Ah! Heloise!” though he had laughed at himself when he seemed facing his ridiculous tragedy.) “Yes,” confessed T. Tembarom. “I met her at the boarding-house where I lived. Her father was a Lancashire man and an inventor. I guess you've heard of him; his name is Joseph Hutchinson.” The whole country had heard of him; more countries, indeed, than one had heard. He was the man who was going to make his fortune in America because T. Tembarom had stood by him in his extremity. He would make a fortune in America and another in England and possibly several others on the Continent. He had learned to read in the village school, and the girl was his daughter. “Yes,” replied the duke. “I don't know whether the one you knew had that quiet little way of seeing right straight into a thing, and making you see it, too,” said Tembarom. “She had,” answered the duke, and an odd expression wavered in his eyes because he was looking backward across forty years which seemed a hundred. “That's what I meant by moving the world,” T. Tembarom went on. “You know she's RIGHT, and you've got to do what she says, if you love her.” “And you always do,” said the duke--“always and forever. There are very few. They are the elect.” T. Tembarom took it gravely. “I said to her once that there wasn't more than one of her in the world because there couldn't be enough to make two of that kind. I wasn't joshing either; I meant it. It's her quiet little voice and her quiet, babyfied eyes that get you where you can't move. And it's something else you don't know anything about. It's her never doing anything for herself, but just doing it because it's the right thing for you.”