"Yes. Do not Northerners visit the Museum? I supposed nobody came to Richmond without coming here." She was painfully annoyed, and felt her thin cheeks glow as hotly as if she were still a girl. To be lacking in politeness was sufficiently humiliating, but to seem rude to one from the North, to fail in living up to her traditions, was intolerable. "I beg your pardon," she forced herself to say. "To come through that door is to step into the past, and I spoke as I might have when--" "When a Yankee in the house of President Davis would have required explicit explanation," the stranger finished the sentence she knew not how to complete. Even in her discomposure she appreciated both the courtesy which spared her the embarrassment of being left in the confusion of an unfinished remark and the adroitness which gave to his reply just the right tone of lightness. He was evidently a man of the world. Her instinct, not to be outdone in politeness, least of all by one of her race, made her speak again. "I was rude," she said stiffly. "To-day is an anniversary on which I always come here, and I forgot myself." "Then I must have seemed doubly obtrusive," he returned gravely. He was certainly a gentleman. He was well groomed, moreover, with the appearance of quiet wealth. One of his hands was ungloved, and she noted appreciatively how finely shaped it was, how white and well kept. The North had all the wealth now, she reflected involuntarily, while so many of the descendants of old Southern families were forced to earn their very bread by occupations unworthy of them. They could not keep their fine hands, hands that told of blood and breeding for generations, as could this stranger before her. His attractiveness, his air of prosperity, were offensive to her because they emphasized the pitiful poverty of so many of her kin whose forefathers had never known what want could be. "The Museum is open to the public," she replied, with increasing coldness. She expected him to bow and leave her. Not only did he linger, but she seemed to see in his face a look of pity. Before she could resent this pity, however, she met his eyes with her own, and the look seemed to her to be one of sympathy. "Will you pardon my saying that I too came here to-day because it is an anniversary?" "An anniversary?" she echoed. "How can an anniversary bring a Northerner here?" "It is n't mine exactly. It is my son's. His mother is a Virginian."