But to my story. We were in a tight place, at least I was. I doubt if ever I thought so quickly in my life as then. The thoughts came like flashes. I had the most anxious solicitude to shield this beloved sister. Our hostess received us most graciously, and then began to introduce us. At first to those nearest her, who were Mr. Smith and his son. I bowed. Then my wife acquitted herself nobly, as if the two, sire and son, had been members of the royal family, and if this had been her first meeting with Mr. Smith, Jr. I was proud of her, for she was a queen to me, then as always. Then Mrs. Edwards, my sister, the daughter to her father who had been mistress to him. There was a scene. Not a word was said, only a bow, but I saw from the flushes of paleness to red on the old man’s face that he was conscious of all the past. He no doubt had his turn of nervous thinking as I had mine. I certainly would have prevented this meeting had I had any suspicion of it, but as it was I had—call it a wicked pleasure if you will—a delight in thus facing my enemy and giving him something to remind him of his sins. All this took place in a moment, for others coming up, we passed on and into another room. Then I saw my sister greatly agitated. She did not utter a word, as if she was conscious that I understood as well as if she had told me all with her lips. I led her to a seat, and my wife remarked about the crowd and the heat in the big room. Such a relief to always have that to which we can attribute our troubles as well as our sins. Every heart knows its own sorrows, and what a blessing it is that every one else does not know them. So far so good, but I still had my anxiety. I was fearful that our hostess in her ignorance might arrange that another face to face encounter would take place at the dinner table. I was in a quandary and probably in a greater state of excitement than was Napoleon at Waterloo. Our hostess soon came up, saying, “Mr. Japhet, you are to take Mrs. Shanks to dinner.” “And my wife and sister?” said I, interrupting her. “O,” she replied, “Mr. Smith, Sr., will take your sister, and Smith, Jr., your wife.” This gave me a shock as from a battery, and I broke in, “Why not let my wife go with Mr. Smith, Sr. She would like to meet him.” This was a lie, unintentioned, as I was at my wit’s end, and on the impulse of a moment did what most, even the best of people might do in such a case, told the smallest, whitest lie I could. “It is well,” she said; “I will arrange it at once.” And she did. So my father took out his daughter-in-law, my wife; and my half brother his half sister. The two couples were seated some distance apart, so I was somewhat at ease. Nothing further occurred to disturb me, and I made some excuse to take away my company soon after dinner. I never wanted such another encounter. Life is too short to have many such excitements that set the heart going like a runaway engine under an extra pressure of steam.