Then lo, that face is lifted, the eyes meet hers. He, all pitiful, reading her heart looks an invitation that she can not resist. And then in the presence of the Pharisees, as they start with horror, every man shrinking from this infamous intruder, every face filled with scorn, she hurries across to the side of the Lord Jesus and falls at His feet. She pours forth her penitence in a flood of tears; then, startled that she should thus have bathed His feet, she loosens her hair and wipes them with reverent hands, and tenderly kissing His feet, she draws from the folds of her dress a pot of unguent, and pours its fragrance upon them. Who she was or how she had come to know Jesus, or when she had been moved by his preaching and converted by the grace of His words we do not know. It is quite likely, having been attracted like others to be one of His auditors somewhere, she had heard His gracious words of love and pity, and had gladly on her part accepted their healing influences. But when the Pharisee saw the marked attention of this woman of the street to his Guest, he commenced talking to himself in his heart, “This man, if He were a prophet,” he muttered to himself, “would know who and what manner of woman this is that is thus lavishing her love upon His feet, for she is a sinner, whose very touch is pollution.” No doubt Simon was shocked beyond measure, especially when he saw Jesus allowed it, and was glad at that moment that his cold caution at the commencement of the feast had prevented him from giving Jesus too cordial a welcome. “I am glad now I did not compromise my honor or forfeit the good opinion of those of my set; that I wasted none of my perfume upon His head; that I gave Him no kiss of welcome; yea, even that I did not bid a servant wash His feet. Such acts of hospitality would, in a measure at least, have committed me, in the eyes of the people, to Him as a friend, and would have exposed me to the criticisms of my brethren. I fear I have already gone too far, but will get out of it as quickly as possible, and when I extend another invitation He’ll know it. In my opinion, He is not only no prophet, but is altogether too free with the common people to make Him desirable among my fellow Pharisees.” To be sure, Simon did not utter these thoughts aloud, but his frigid demeanor, and the contemptuous expression of countenance, which he did not take the trouble to disguise, showed all that was passing in his heart. He little realized that Jesus had read his thoughts as unerringly as if he had written them upon the walls of his dining-room, and at once proceeded to lay open the heart of His host to himself in a manner he had never thought it possible, and He did it by first relating a little parable, and thus addressed the Pharisee: “Simon, I have somewhat to say to thee!” “Master, say on,” was the somewhat constrained reply.