'I want to speak to you about painful things,' pursued his hostess, with an animation and emphasis which made her more like the lady of Fitzjohn Avenue. 'You know everything--except my own position, and that is what I wish to explain to you. I won't go into details. I will only say that a few years ago my husband made over to me a large sum of money--I had none of my own--and that it still belongs to me. I say belongs to me; but there is my trouble. I fear I have no right whatever to call it mine. And there are people who have suffered such dreadful losses. Some of them you know. There was a family named Abbott. I wanted to ask you about them. Poor Mr. Abbott--I remember reading----' She closed her eyes for an instant, and the look upon her face told that this was no affectation of an anguished memory. 'It was accident,' Rolfe hastened to say. 'The jury found it accidental death.' 'But there was the loss--I read it all. He had lost everything. Do tell me what became of his family. Someone told me they were friends of yours.' 'Happily they had no children. There was a small life-insurance. Mrs Abbott used to be a teacher, and she is going to take that up again.' 'Poor thing! Is she quite young?' 'Oh, about thirty, I should say.' 'Will she go into a school?' 'No. Private pupils at her own house. She has plenty of courage, and will do fairly well, I think.' 'Still, it is shocking that she should have lost all--her husband, too, just at that dreadful time. This is what I wanted to say, Mr. Rolfe. Do you think it would be possible to ask her to accept something----? I do so feel,' she hurried on, 'that I ought to make some sort of restitution--what I can--to those who lost everything. I am told that things are not quite hopeless; something may be recovered out of the wreck some day. But it will be such a long time, and meanwhile people are suffering so. And here am I left in comfort--more than comfort. It isn't right; I couldn't rest till I did something. I am glad to say that I have been able to help a little here and there, but only the kind of people whom it's easy to help. A case like Mrs. Abbott's is far worse, yet there's such a difficulty in doing anything; one might only give offence. I'm sure my name must be hateful to her--as it is to so many.' Rolfe listened with a secret surprise. He had never thought ill of Mrs Frothingham; but, on the other hand, had never attributed to her any save superficial qualities, a lightsome temper, pleasure in hospitality, an easy good nature towards all the people of her acquaintance. He would not have supposed her capable of substantial sacrifices; least of all, on behalf of strangers and inspired by a principle. She spoke with the simplest sincerity; it was impossible to suspect her motives. The careless liking with which he had always regarded her was now infused with respect; he became gravely attentive, and answered in a softer voice.