"I am afraid she should go into _philanthropy_," the major solemnly rejoined. "That is the bug-bear--the spectre--the haunting terror of my life. I never see a seedy man in a black frock coat, nor an elderly female in spectacles, about the house or speaking to my wife in the street, that I don't shake in my shoes--literally shake in my shoes, I do assure you. I can't think how it is that she has never taken up the Cause of Humanity," he proceeded reflectively. "If we had not settled down in Australia, she _must_ have done it--she could not have helped herself. But even here she is beset with temptations. _I_ can see them in every direction. I can't think how it is that she doesn't see them too." "No doubt she sees them," said Elizabeth. "O no, she does not. The moment she sees them--the moment she casts a serious eye upon them--that moment she will be a lost woman, and I shall be a desperate man." The major shuddered visibly, and Elizabeth laughed at his distress. "Whenever it happens that Mrs. Duff-Scott goes into philanthropy," she said, a little in joke and a great deal in earnest, "I shall certainly be proud to accompany her, if she will have me." And, as she spoke, there flashed into her mind some idea of the meaning of certain little sentences that were breathed into her ear yesterday. The major talked on as before, and she tried to attend to what he said, but she found herself thinking less of him now than of her unknown friend--less occupied with the substantial figures upon the stage of action around her than with the delusive scene-painting in the background of her own imagination. Beyond the crowd that flowed up and down the gallery, she saw a dim panorama of other crowds--phantom crowds--that gradually absorbed her attention. They were in the streets of Cologne, looking up at those mighty walls and towers that had been six centuries a-building, shouting and shaking hands with each other; and in the midst of them _he_ was standing, grave and critical, observing their excitement and finding it "pathetic"--nothing more. They were in London streets in the early daylight--daylight at half-past three in the morning! that was a strange thing to think of--a "gentle and good-humoured" mob, yet full of tragic interest for the philosopher watching its movements, listening to its talk, speculating upon its potential value in the sum of humankind. It was the typical crowd that he was in the habit of studying--not like the people who thronged the Treasury steps this time yesterday. Surely it was the _Cause of Humanity_ that had laid hold of _him_. That was the explanation of the interest he took in some crowds, and of the delight that he found in the uninterestingness of others. That was what he meant when he told her she ought to read Thackeray's paper to help her to understand him. Pondering over this thought, fitfully, amid the distractions of the conversation, she raised her head and saw Eleanor coming towards her.