Mr. Phipps's proposal was felt to need no refutation. The widow's mite
is such a very old story--not at all applicable to the immense
operations of modern philanthropy. Besides, Miss Wort had no ambition
for the glory of a leader, nor had she the figure for the post. Mr.
Phipps was not speaking to be contradicted, only to be heard.

Lady Latimer, on her way to depart, came near the place where the
gentlemen were grouped, and turned aside to join them, as if a sudden
thought had struck her. "You are discussing our plans?" she said. "A
certificated master to supersede poor old Rivett must be the first
consideration in our rearrangement of the schools. The children have
been sacrificed too long to his incompetence. We must be on the look-out
for a superior man, and make up our minds to pay him well."

"Poor old Rivett! he has done good work in his day, but he has the fault
that overtakes all of us in time," said Mr. Phipps. "For the master of a
rural school like ours, I would choose just such another man--of rough
common-sense, born and bred in a cottage, and with an experimental
knowledge of the life of the boys he has to educate. Certificated if you
please, but the less conventionalized the better."

Lady Latimer did not like Mr. Phipps--she thought there was something of
the spy in his nature. She gazed beyond him, and was peremptory about
her superior man--so peremptory that she had probably already fixed on
the fortunate individual who would enjoy her countenance. Half an hour
later, when Bessie Fairfax was carrying off her reluctant brothers to
supper and to bed, my lady had not said all she had to say. She was
still projecting, dissenting, deciding and undoing, and the gentlemen
were still listening with patient deference. She had made magnificent
offers of help for the furtherance of their schemes, and had received