"Why, I didn't know you approved of diamonds, Mr. Gwynne, I wouldn't have dared to wear mine before you," said Mrs. Pallinder, tempting Providence. "Everybody says you're so severe and critical--and--and like all the rest of you men--you laugh at us poor women shamefully, yes, and tyrannise over us, too, you know you do!" she went on, displaying a discernment for which nobody would have given her credit. "Madame," said Steven, highly flattered; "you mistake me--beauty unadorned----" "Oh, but Mr. Gwynne, I'm not in that class! Now come up to dinner to-night, and I'll put on every diamond I have, and you'll see I'll look the better for it." She raised her hand. "But don't involve me in an argument--I can't hold my ground with you, you know--you're too clever for me--I remember the last time, when you demolished me utterly--you told me we didn't need money to get along--think of that, Doctor Vardaman, he actually told me we didn't need to use money at all, 'the circulating medium,' wasn't that what you called it, Mr. Gwynne? See how well I remember! And, Doctor, before he got through, he persuaded me, sure enough, that we didn't need money--I believed him--at least I had nothing to say!" Now how, how, I ask the unprejudiced and fair-minded observer, how could any gentleman--of the name of _Gwynne_--come at so winningly simple a woman as Mrs. Pallinder with a low question of rent? "Pay or quit" indeed! The thing was inconceivable, the moment inappropriate. "You _will_ come to dinner, won't you, Mr. Gwynne? Mr. Peters, I've a crow to pick with _you_, for never bringing him. Oh, I know you hate society, Mr. Gwynne, but just for once----" Steven faltered; he would have accepted the invitation in another moment--and if he had, who knows how this story might have ended?--but Doctor Vardaman intervened briskly. "Steven's got to stay here, madame, I asked him first," he said, and clapped the other on the shoulder. Perhaps the doctor was a shade more cordial even than his nature prompted; he felt a great pity for Steven, and a certain shame at the cheap and flimsy devices by which his poor old friend could be overpowered. Mrs. Pallinder made a little mouth at him. "You always have your way, Doctor, you've gotten the better of me ever so many times. _You've_ got Huddesley, for instance," she said, not disdaining to bestow an _oeillade_ on the servant as he stood before her, offering sherry in the doctor's little old trumpet-shaped glasses; he acknowledged the compliment by a respectful grin. "And _I'm_ simply having the most _awful_ time--you don't know of a good cook, do you, Huddesley?" "No, ma'am. Hi don't know hanybody 'ere, ma'am," said Huddesley, with a faintly superior air; and passed on to Gwynne with his silver tray. It was true; he held himself apart from, and rather above, other servants. The doctor had often remarked it with an amused sympathy.