"I have other connections," remembered Sir William's cousin; "those of
my poor husband, to whom instead of being the 'poor relation' I could
be the fairy god-mama. They are my people--or would be," added Sir
William's cousin tartly, "if I wasn't a vulgar snob."

She flushed the instant she had said the words and, rising, commenced
preparations for a hurried departure.

"Now it seems I am driving you away," sighed the stranger.

"Having been called a 'vulgar snob,'" retorted the lady with some
heat, "I think it about time I went."

"The words were your own," the stranger reminded her.

"Whatever I may have thought," remarked the indignant dame, "no
lady--least of all in the presence of a total stranger--would have
called herself--" The poor dame paused, bewildered. "There is
something very curious the matter with me this evening, that I cannot
understand," she explained, "I seem quite unable to avoid insulting
myself."

Still surrounded by bewilderment, she wished the stranger good-night,
hoping that when next they met she would be more herself. The
stranger, hoping so also, opened the door and closed it again behind
her.

"Tell me," laughed Miss Devine, who by sheer force of talent was
contriving to wring harmony from the reluctant piano, "how did you
manage to do it? I should like to know."