epeat Mrs.
Gouverneur's pretexts, and not to betray what she knew to be her aunt's
real reason for hesitation. Millard encountered Mrs. Hilbrough at the
opera, and heard from her of the failure of Phillida's endeavors. He
felt himself put on his mettle.

Knowing that the next day was Mrs. Gouverneur's day for receiving, he
made himself her first caller before the rest began to arrive. Looking
from the old-fashioned windows of Mrs. Gouverneur's front parlor, he
praised the beauty of the winter scene, and admired especially the
spotted boles of the great buttonwoods in Washington Square. He thought
to make his call seem less on purpose by such commonplace civilities,
but Mrs. Gouverneur, who was a soft-spoken lady of much cleverness, with
a talent for diplomacy inherited from her grandfather, asked herself,
while she replied in the same vein to Millard's preliminary vapidities,
what on earth so formal a call and such a waste of adroitness might
lead up to. But Millard, even after this preparation, provided an
inclined plane for approaching his proposition.

"I had the pleasure of meeting a niece of yours the other evening, a
Miss Callender," he said. "I found her very agreeable."

"Oh! You met Phillida Callender at Mrs. Hilbrough's, probably," said
Mrs. Gouverneur with a flush of pleasure. "She's as good as goodness
itself, and very clever. But rather peculiar also. She has a great deal
of Callender in her. Her father gave up good prospects in this country
to preach in Siam. He might have had the pastorate of one of the best
Presbyterian churches in New York, but nothing could dissuade him from
what he fancied to be his duty. It only proves what I have always said,
that 'blood will tell.' It is related in some of the old books that
Philip has upstairs that one of the women of the Callender family,
before the Revolution, felt it her duty to go through the streets of
Newport, crying, 'Repent, repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.'
She was a refined and delicate lady, and the people of the town felt so
much chagrin to see her expose herself to mortification in the public
street that they shut up their windows or turned away, which I think was
very nice of them. I fancy that Phillida, with all her superior
intelligence, has a good deal of this great-great-aunt of her father's
in her. I was talking to her once about this story of Mary Callender's
preaching in the streets, and she really seemed to take more interest i