mpatience.

'I will come to the matter at once,' said Miss Delacour. 'You know, or
perhaps you do not know, how I spend my life.'

'I do not know, Agnes. You never write, and until to-day you have
never come to The Garden.'

'Well, I have come now with a purpose. Pray don't fidget so
dreadfully, George. It is really bad style. I am noted in London for
moving in the very best society. I see the men of culture and
refinement, who are always remarked for the stillness of their
attitudes.'

'Are they?' said George Lennox. 'Well, I can only say I am glad I
don't live there.'

'How Lucy _could_ have taken to you?' remarked Miss Delacour.

'Say those words again, Agnes, and _I_ shall go to bed. There are some
recent novels on the table, and you can read then till you feel sleepy.'

'Thanks; I am never sleepy when I have work to do. My work is charity;
my work is philanthropy. You know quite well that I am blessed by God
with considerable means. Often and often I go to the Bank of England
and stand by the Royal Exchange and see those noble words, "_The earth
is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof._" George, those words are _my_
text. Those words exemplify my work. "The earth is the Lord's." I
therefore, George, give of my abundance to the Lord, meaning thereby
the Lord's poor. I hate the Charity Organisation Society; but when I
see a man or a woman or even a child in our rank of life struggling
with dire poverty, when, after making strict inquiries, I find out that
the poverty is real, then I help that man, woman, or child. I live,
George, in a little house in Chelsea. I keep one servant, and one
only. I do not waste money on motor-cars or gardens or antiquated
mansions like this. I give to the Lord's poor. George, I am a very
happy woman.'

'I am glad to hear it,' said Lennox. 'Since you entered my house, I
should not have known it but for your remark.'

'Ah, indeed, I have cause for sorrow in your ridiculous house,
surrounded by your absurd children'----

'Agnes!'

'I must speak, George. I have come here for the express purpose. Dear
little Lucy wrote to me during her short married life with regard to
the Upper Glen. She wrote happily, I must confess that. She spoke of
her children as though she loved them very dearly. Would she love them
if she were alive now?'

'Agnes!'

'George, I say--I declare--that she would _not_ love them. Brought up
without discipline, without education;