"That was forbidden too."

"A message?"

"Nothing was said about that."

"Then will you do me the favor to say to the lady that the check will not be cashed till Mr. Stirling has been able to explain something to her."

"Certainly. She can't object to that."

"Thank you."

"Not at all." The president rose and escorted him to the door. "That was a splendid speech of yours, Mr. Stirling," he added. "I'm not a bit ashamed to say that it put salt water in my old eyes."

"I think," said Peter, "it was the deaths of the poor little children, more than anything I said, that made people feel it."

The next morning's mail brought Peter a second note, in the same handwriting as that of the day before. It read:

"Miss De Voe has received Mr. Stirling's message and will be pleased to see him in regard to the check, at half after eleven to-day (Wednesday) if he will call upon her.

"Miss De Voe regrets the necessity of giving Mr. Stirling such brief notice, but she leaves New York on Thursday."

As Peter walked up town that morning, he was a little surprised that he was so cool over his intended call. In a few minutes he would be in the presence of a lady, the firmness of whose handwriting indicated that she was not yet decrepit. Three years ago such a prospect would have been replete with terror to him. Down to that--that week at the Pierce's, he had never gone to a place where he expected to "encounter" (for that was the word he formerly used) women without dread. Since that week--except for the twenty-four hours of the wedding, he had not "encountered" a lady. Yet here he was, going to meet an entire stranger without any conscious embarra.s.sment or suffering. He was even in a sense curious.

Peter was not given to self-a.n.a.lysis, but the change was too marked a one for him to be unconscious of it. Was it merely the poise of added years? Was it that he had ceased to care what women thought of him? Or was it that his discovery that a girl was lovable had made the s.e.x less terrible to him? Such were the questions he asked himself as he walked, and he had not answered them when he rang the bell of the old-fashioned, double house on Second Avenue.

He was shown into a large drawing-room, the fittings of which were still shrouded in summer coverings, preventing Peter from inferring much, even if he had had time to do so. But the butler had scarcely left him when, with a well-bred promptness from which Peter might have drawn an inference, the rustle of a woman's draperies was heard. Rising, Peter found himself facing a tall, rather slender woman of between thirty-five and forty. It did not need a second glance from even Peter's untrained eye, to realize the suggestion of breeding in the whole atmosphere about her. The gown was of the simplest summer material, but its very simplicity, and a certain lack of "latest fashion" rather than "old-fashionedness" gave it a quality of respectability. Every line of the face, the set of the head, and even more the carriage of the figure, conveyed the "look of race."

"I must thank you, Mr. Stirling," she said, speaking deliberately, in a low, mellow voice, by no means so common then as our women's imitation of the English tone and inflexion has since made it, "for suiting your time to mine on such short notice."

"You were very kind," said Peter, "to comply with my request. Any time was convenient to me."

"I am glad it suited you."

Peter had expected to be asked to sit down, but, nothing being said, began his explanation.

"I am very grateful, Miss De Voe, for your note, and for the check. I thank you for both. But I think you probably sent me the latter through a mistake, and so I did not feel justified in accepting it."

"A mistake?"

"Yes. The papers made many errors in their statements. I'm not a 'poor young lawyer' as they said. My mother is comfortably off, and gives me an ample allowance."

"Yes?"

"And what is more," continued Peter, "while they were right in saying that I paid some of the expenses of the case, yet I was more than repaid by my fees in some civil suits I brought for the relatives of the children, which we settled very advantageously."

"Won't you sit down, Mr. Stirling?" said Miss De Voe. "I should like to hear about the cases."

Peter began a very simple narrative of the matter. But Miss De Voe interjected questions or suppositions here and there, which led to other explanations, and before Peter had finished, he had told not merely the history of the cases, but much else. His mention of the two Dooley children had brought out the fact of their visit to his mother, and this had explained incidentally her position in the world. The settlement of the cases involved the story of the visit to the brewer's home, and Peter, to justify his action, added his interview with his pastor, Peter's connection with the case compelled him to speak of his evenings in the "angle," and the solitary life that had sent him there.

Afterwards, Peter was rather surprised at how much he had told. He did not realize that a woman with tact and experience can, without making it evident, lead a man to tell nearly anything and everything he knows, if she is so minded. If women ever really take to the bar seriously, may Providence protect the average being in trousers, when on the witness stand.

As Peter talked, a clock struck. Stopping short, he rose. "I must ask your pardon," he said. "I had no idea I had taken so much of your time."

Then putting his hand in his pocket, he produced the check. "You see that I have made a very good thing out of the whole matter and do not need this."

"One moment, Mr. Stirling," said the lady, still sitting. "Can you spare the time to lunch with me? We will sit down at once, and you shall be free to go whenever you wish."

Peter hesitated. He knew that he had the time, and it did not seem easy to refuse without giving an excuse, which he did not have. Yet he did not feel that he had the right to accept an invitation which he had perhaps necessitated by his long call.

"Thank you," said his hostess, before he had been able to frame an answer. "May I trouble you to pull that bell?"

Peter pulled the bell, and coming back, tendered the check rather awkwardly to Miss De Voe. She, however, was looking towards a doorway, which the next moment was darkened by the butler.

"Morden," she said, "you may serve luncheon at once."

"Luncheon is served, madam," said Morden.

Miss De Voe rose. "Mr. Stirling, I do not think your explanation has really affected the circ.u.mstances which led me to send that check. You acknowledge yourself that you are the poorer for that prosecution, and received no fees for trying it. As I wrote you, I merely was giving a retaining fee in that case, and as none other has been given, I still wish to do it. I cannot do such things myself, but I am weal--I--I can well afford to aid others to do them, and I hope you will let me have the happiness of feeling that I have done my little in this matter."

"Thank you," said Peter. "I was quite willing to take the money, but I was afraid you might have sent it under a misconception."

Miss De Voe smiled at Peter with a very nice look in her face. "I am the one to say 'thank you,' and I am most grateful. But we will consider that as ended, and discuss luncheon in its place."

Peter, despite his usual unconsciousness could not but notice the beauty of the table service. The meal itself was the simplest of summer luncheons, but the silver and china and gla.s.s were such as he had never seen before.

"What wine will you have with your luncheon, Mr. Stirling?" he was asked by his hostess.

"I don't--none for me," replied Peter.

"You don't approve of wine?" asked his hostess.

"Personally I have no feeling about it."

"But?" And there was a very big question mark in Miss De Voe's voice.

"My mother is strongly prejudiced against it, so I do not take it. It is really no deprivation to me, while it would mean great anxiety to her if I drank."

This started the conversation on Peter's mother and his early years, and before it had ended, his hostess had succeeded in learning much more about his origin and his New York life. The clock finally cut him short again, for they lingered at the table long after the meal was finished, though Miss De Voe made the pretence of eating a grape occasionally.

When three o'clock struck, Peter, without the least simulating any other cause for going, rose hastily.

"I have used up your whole afternoon," he said, apologetically.

"I think," smiled Miss De Voe, "that we are equal culprits in that. I leave town to-morrow, Mr. Stirling, but return to the city late in October, and if your work and inclination favor it, I hope you will come to see me again?"

Peter looked at the silver and the china. Then he looked at Miss De Voe, so obviously an aristocrat.

"I shall be happy to," he said, "if, when you return, you will send me word that you wish to see me."

Miss De Voe had slightly caught her breath while Peter hesitated. "I believe he is going to refuse!" she thought to herself, a sort of stunned amazement seizing her. She was scarcely less surprised at his reply.

"I never ask a man twice to call on me, Mr. Stirling," she said, with a slight hauteur in her voice.