“Naturally you wouldn’t have had,” said Mrs. Holt.  “What I meant was, are you interested in the problems they have to face?”

“Extremely,” said he, so unexpectedly that Honora choked.  “I can’t say that I’ve given as many hours as I should have liked to a study of the subject, but I don’t know of any class that has a harder time.  As a rule, they’re underpaid and overworked, and when night comes they are either tired to death or bored to death, and the good-looking ones are subject to temptations which some of them find impossible to resist, in a natural desire for some excitement to vary the routine of their lives.”

“It seems to me,” said Mrs. Holt, “that you are fairly conversant with the subject.  I don’t think I ever heard the problem stated so succinctly and so well.  Perhaps,” she added, “it might interest you to attend one of our meetings next month.  Indeed, you might be willing to say a few words.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me, Mrs. Holt.  I’m a rather busy man, and nothing of a public speaker, and it is rarely I get off in the daytime.”

“How about automobiling?” asked Mrs. Holt, with a smile.

“Well,” said Trixton Brent, laughing in spite of himself, “I like the working girls, I have to have a little excitement occasionally.  And I find it easier to get off in the summer than in the winter.”

“Men cover a multitude of sins under the plea of business,” said Mrs. Holt, shaking her head.  I can’t say I think much of your method of distraction.  Why any one desires to get into an automobile, I don’t see.”

“Have you ever been in one?” he asked.  “Mine is here, and I was about to invite you to go down to the ferry in it.  I’ll promise to go slow.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Holt, “I don’t object to going that distance, if you keep your promise.  I’ll admit that I’ve always had a curiosity.”

“And in return,” said Brent, gallantly, “allow me to send you a cheque for your working girls.”

“You’re very good,” said Mrs. Holt.

“Oh,” he protested, I’m not in the habit of giving much to charities, I’m sorry to say.  I’d like to know how it feels.”

“Then I hope the sensation will induce you to try it again,” said Mrs. Holt.

“Nobody, Mrs. Holt,” cried Honora, “could be kinder to his friends than Mr. Brent!”

“We were speaking of disinterested kindness, my dear,” was Mrs. Holt’s reply.

“You’re quite right, Mrs. Holt,” said Trixton Brent, beginning, as the dinner progressed, to take in the lady opposite a delight that surprised him.  “I’m willing to confess that I’ve led an extremely selfish existence.”

“The confession isn’t necessary,” she replied.  “It’s written all over you.  You’re the type of successful man who gets what he wants.  I don’t mean to say that you are incapable of kindly instincts.”  And her eye twinkled a little.

“I’m very grateful for that concession, at any rate,” he declared.