“It’s finding the right man to run such a company. I can’t give the time, for I can do more good in other directions. It needs a good business man, yet one who must have many other qualities which rarely go with a business training. He must understand the poor, because he must look into every case, to see if it is a safe risk—or rather if the past life of the applicant indicates that he is entitled to help. Now if your grandfather, who is such an able banker, were to go into my ward, and ask about the standing of a man in it, he wouldn’t get any real information. But if I ask, every one will tell me what he thinks. The man in control of such a bank must be able to draw out the truth. Unless the management was just what it ought to be, it would be bankrupt in a few months, or else would not lend to one quarter of the people who deserve help. Yet from my own experience, I know, that money can be loaned to these people, so that the legal interest more than pays for the occasional loss, and that most of these losses are due to inability, more than to dishonesty.” “I wish we could go on talking,” sighed Leonore. “But the people are beginning to go downstairs. I suppose I must go, so as to say good-bye. I only wish I could help you in charity.” “You have given _me_ a great charity this evening,” said Peter. “You mean the photographs,” smiled Leonore. “No.” “What else?” “You have shown me the warmest and most loving of hearts,” said Peter, “and that is the best charity in the world.” On the way down they met Lispenard coming up. “I’ve just said good-night to your mother. I would have spoken to you while we were in your room, but you were so engrossed that Miss Winthrop and I thought we had better not interrupt.” “I didn’t see you,” said Leonore. “Indeed!” said Lispenard, with immense wonderment. “I can’t believe that. You know you were cutting us.” Then he turned to Peter. “You old scamp, you,” he whispered, “you are worse than the Standard Oil.” “I sent for you some time ago, Leonore,” said her mother, disapprovingly. “The guests have been going and you were not here.” “I’m sorry, mamma. I was showing Peter the house.” “Good-night,” said that individual. “I dread formal dinners usually, but this one has been the pleasantest of my life.” “That’s very nice. And thank you, Peter, for the bracelet, and the flowers, and the compliment. They were all lovely. Would you like a rose?” Would he? He said nothing, but he looked enough to get it. “Can’t we put you down?” said a man at the door. “It’s not so far from Washington Square to your place, that your company won’t repay us.” “Thank you,” said Peter, “but I have a hansom here.” Yet Peter did not ride. He dismissed cabby, and walked down the Avenue. Peter was not going to compress his happiness inside a carriage that evening. He needed the whole atmosphere to contain it. As he strode along he said: