"Berk has the tenderest of hearts," continued Miss Ri, "and he has thoughtful little ways that please an elderly woman like myself. I could but notice the difference when I was walking with Mr. Jeffreys. Did he help me over a gutter, or up a steep curb? Not he. Not that I wanted help, but it was the outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace that I missed. Berk watches out for your every step, makes way for you, as it were. If he wore a Sir Walter Raleigh cloak it would be mud from end to end so readily would he spread it for a woman's feet to tread on. He may not have the tall and graceful figure of your cousin, but he can bow like a courtier, and will stand with his head uncovered in any weather rather than wear his hat in a lady's presence." "I have noticed all those things," admitted Linda. "So far, in your opinion, his side of the scales tip far, far below my cousin's, but then one must make allowances for your partiality. You've known Berk since he was born. Perhaps Mr. Jeffreys' mother may have had just so good an opinion of him." "Being his mother she probably had. What have you to put in his side of the scales?" "Oh, good looks, a very dignified bearing, and a perfectly well-trained conscience which wouldn't run away with him." "You know I don't call that so desirable a quality as the impulsive generosity." "But I do, so if you leave your impulsive generosity in the scales, I must have the well-trained conscience." "Very well. Go on." "Then, there's your mud-spattered cloak which I will balance with--let me see--" "You can't find anything to equal that," cried Miss Ri triumphantly. "Oh, yes, I can. There is a certain beautiful dignity and a certain indescribable charm; I don't know exactly wherein it lies, but it is there. Bertie Bryan has discovered it, too, and very probably it has not escaped you." "I don't see it at all." "There we are again, so you will have to take the courtesy and I'll have the dignity and charm. I haven't a doubt but if we knew Mr. Jeffreys better we should find a host of other things." "He is not sympathetic in the way Berk is." The paper-cutter was at work again. "No-o," Linda admitted, "he doesn't seem to be, but perhaps he really is, inside." "Then I don't see what use it is to anyone. Berk shows that quality in his eyes. He has dear eyes, I think." Linda neither affirmed nor denied though she suddenly remembered the eager, tender look bestowed upon her that day in the postoffice when she gave back the newspaper after reading her little poem in it. "We certainly have discussed those two long enough," she said lightly. "How their ears must burn. What next, Aunt Ri?"