" Before Miriam could reply, a young man who had discovered her from afar advanced with what was evidently an unusual degree of precipitancy. "Miss Whiting, I am delighted," he puffed. "I have been looking for you everywhere.

I was in town, and I went to that bric-a-brac shop. The fan is undoubtedly a real Jacques Callot." "I was sure," she murmured, "with your knowledge and taste, that you could decide at once.

Of course, I did not know." "And-and--" hesitated the youth, "I hope that you will not be offended. I told them to send it to you here.

If you 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.