"He is a working-man, Jessy, and so am I." She accepted the statement without demur, as she accepted everything--neither denying nor disputing, but apparently indifferent to its truth or falseness. My eyes met Sally's in the glass, and they held me in a long, compassionate gaze. "All men are working-men, Jessy, if they are worth anything," she said, "and any work is good work if it is well done." "He is a miner," responded Jessy. "If he is, it is because he prefers to do the work he knows to being idle," I answered sharply. "What you must remember is that when he had little, and I had nothing, he gave you freely all that he had." She did not answer, and for a moment I thought I had convinced her. "Will you write to President to-night?" I asked. "But we are having a dinner party. How can I?" "To-morrow, then?" "I am going to the theatre with Mrs. Blansford. Mr. Cottrel has taken a box for her. He is one of the richest men in the West, isn't he?" "There are a great many rich men in the West. How can it concern you?" "Oh, it's beautiful to be rich," she returned, in the most enthusiastic phrase I had ever heard her utter; and gathering her white lace train over her arm she went into her bedroom to remove the dress. "What is she made of, Sally?" I asked, in sheer desperation; "flesh and blood, do you think?" "I don't know, Ben, not your flesh and blood, certainly." "But for President--why wasn't my father hanged before he gave him such a name!--she would have remained ignorant and common with all her beauty. He almost starved himself in order to send her to a good school and give her pretty clothes." "I know, I know, it seems terribly ungrateful--but perhaps she's excited over her first dinner." That evening we were to give our first formal dinner, and when I came downstairs a little before eight o'clock, I found the rooms a bower of azaleas, over which the pink-shaded lamps shed a light that touched Jessy's lace gown with pale rose. "It's like fairyland, isn't it?" she said, "and the table is so beautiful. Come and see the table." She led me into the dining-room and we stood gazing down on the decorations, while we waited for Sally. "Who is coming, Jessy?" "Twelve in all. General Bolingbroke and Mr. Bolingbroke, Mrs. Fitzhugh, Governor Blenner, Miss Page," she went on reading the cards, "Mr. Mason, Miss Watson, Colonel Henry, Mrs. Preston, Mrs. Tyler--" "That will do. I'll know them when I see them. Do you like it, Jessy?" "Yes, I like it. Isn't my dress lovely?" "Very, but don't get spoiled. You see Sally has had this all her life, and she isn't spoiled." "I don't believe she could be," she responded, for her admiration for Sally was the most human thing I had ever discovered about her, "and she's so beautiful--more beautiful, I think, than Bonny Page, though of course nobody would agree with me." "Well, she's perfect, and she always was and always will be," I returned.