will accept it?"

"How terrible--and how kind of you!" Miriam cried, holding out both
hands, as if led by an irresistible impulse. "But you are so generous.
All your friends have discovered that. I always think of St. Francis
sharing his cloak with the blind beggar."

"So good of you," he stuttered. "It's nothing. You must be tired.
Can't I bring a chair for you? I am going to get one."

As the young man turned hurriedly away, Miriam grasped her companion's
arm.

"I never thought that he would give it to me. Never, Janet--honestly,"
she exclaimed, with earnestness.

"The way of the transgressor is likely to be strewn--with surprises."

"I only thought of saying something pleasant at a dinner."

"I'd taken Bengy Wade's opinion without a moment's hesitation on the
length of a fox terrier's tail, but a fan----"

"He wants to be considered artistic," pleaded Miriam.

"And the last touch about St. Francis, wasn't that a trifle overdone?
Somewhat too thickly laid on? What used to be called by painters in a
pre-impressionistic age--too great _impasto_. I am afraid that you are
a little deteriorating."

"Miriam!"

Both turned, and found a tall lady calling with as great animation as
a due regard for the requirements of a statuesque pose permitted.

"I want to speak to you," she exclaimed, as soon as words were
possible. "I want you to come to my house to-morrow morning. I am
going to have a little music. Emmeline is going to sing."

"Oh!" cried Miriam.

"Don't you like her singing?" the other inquired, earnestly.

"Oh, _very_ much," assured Miriam. "Only--the truth is, I once heard
her sing Brunnhilde's 'Awakening,' and she murdered it so horribly."

"Emmeline is often too ambitious," the other commented, with visible
content.

"Lighter things she can do charmingly, and she should hold to them,"
Miriam announced, with decision.

"I arranged the program," said the lady, "and, for her own sake, I
shall not let her attempt anything to which she is unequal. Of course,
I shall not sing myself."

"Oh, Mrs. Ogden!"

"You know I never sing anything but Wagner, and then only when there
are a few--when my hearers are in full sympathy. You will be sure to
come," she added, as she turned to give another invitation. "By the
way, you will be at Westbrook this autumn. I want you to ride
Persiflage in the hunt as often as you like."

"Much better," commented Miriam's companion, as they strayed on. "Of
course, nothin