As the Taine automobile left Aaron King and his friend, that afternoon, Mrs. Taine spoke to the chauffeur; "You may stop a moment, at the next house, Henry." If she had fired a gun, James Rutlidge could not have turned with a more startled suddenness. "What in thunder do you want there?" he demanded shortly. "I want to stop," she returned calmly. "But I must get down town, at once," he protested. "I have already lost the best part of the afternoon." "Your business seems to have become important very suddenly," she observed, sarcastically. "I have something to do besides making calls with you," he retorted. "Go on, Henry." Mrs. Taine spoke sharply; "Really, Jim, you are going too far. Henry, turn in at the house." The machine moved toward the curb and stopped. As she stepped from the car, she added, "I will only be a minute, Jim." Rutlidge growled an inarticulate curse. "What deviltry do you suppose she is up to now," rasped Mr. Taine. Which brought from his daughter the usual protest,--"O, papa, don't," As Mrs. Taine approached the house, Sibyl Andrés--busy among the flowers that bordered the walk--heard the woman's step, and stood quietly waiting her. Mrs. Taine's face was perfect in its expression of cordial interest, with just enough--but not too much--of a conscious, well-bred superiority. The girl's countenance was lighted by an expression of childlike surprise and wonder. What had brought this well-known leader in the social world from Fairlands Heights to the poor, little house in the orange grove, so far down the hill? "Good afternoon," said the caller. "You are Miss Andrés, are you not?" "Yes," returned the girl, with a smile. "Won't you come in? I will call Miss Willard." "Oh, thank you, no. I have only a moment. My friends are waiting. I am Mrs. Taine." "Yes, I know. I have often seen you passing." The other turned abruptly. "What beautiful flowers." "Aren't they lovely," agreed Sibyl, with frank pleasure at the visitor's appreciation. "Let me give you a bunch." Swiftly she gathered a generous armful. Mrs. Taine protested, but the girl presented her offering with such grace and winsomeness that the other could not refuse. As she received the gift, the perfect features of the woman of the world were colored by a blush that even she could not control. "I understand, Miss Andrés," she said, "that you are an accomplished violinist." "I teach and play in Park Church," was the simple answer. "I have never happened to hear you, myself,"--said Mrs. Taine smoothly,--"but my friends who live next door--Mr. Lagrange and Mr. King--have told me about you." "Oh!" The girl's voice was vaguely troubled, while the other, watching, saw the blush that colored her warmly tinted cheeks. "It is good of you to play for them," continued the woman from Fairlands Heights, casually. "You must enjoy the society of such famous men, very much. There are a great many people, you know, who would envy you your friendship with them."