Aunt Frances was Starr's mother's sister, and as the servants of the two families agreed mutually, "Just like her, only more so." Starr had never been quite happy in her company.

"Come with me for a little while, daughter. I'm sorry I can't stay at home all the evening, but I rather promised I'd drop into a charitable meeting at Madison Square for a few minutes this evening. They're counting on my name, I believe. We won't need to stay long, and if you're with, me it will be easier to get away."

"Agreed!" said Starr eagerly, and got herself ready in a twinkling. And so it came about that as the roll of martial music poured forth from the fine instruments secured for the occasion, and the leaders and speakers of the evening, together with the presidents of this Society, and that Army, or Settlement, or Organization for the Belief and Benefit of the Poor, filed on to the great platform, that Starr and her father occupied prominent seats in the vast audience, and joined in the enthusiasm that spread like a wave before the great American Flag that burst out in brilliant electric lights of red and white and blue, a signal that the hour and the moment was come.

Michael came in with the others, as calmly as though he had spent his life preparing for the public platform. There was fire in his eyes, the fire of passion for the people of the slums who were his kin. He looked over the audience with a throb of joy to think he had so mighty an opportunity. His pulses were not stirred, because he had no consciousness of self in this whole performance. His subject was to live before the people, he himself was nothing at all. He had no fear but he could tell them, if that was all they wanted. Burning sentences hot with the blood of souls had been pouring through his mind ever since he had decided to talk of his people. He was only in a hurry to begin lest they would not give him time to tell all he knew! All he knew! Could it ever be told? It was endless as eternity.

With a strange stirring of her heart Starr recognized him. She felt the color stealing into her face. She thought her father must notice it, and cast a furtive glance at him, but he was deep in conversation about some banking business, so she sat and watched Michael during the opening exercises and wondered how he came to be there and what was his office in this thing. Did lawyers get paid for doing something to help along charitable institutions? She supposed so. He was probably given a seat on the platform for his pains. Yet she could not help thinking how fine he looked sitting there in the centre, the place of honor it would seem. How came he there? He was taller than all the others, whether sitting or standing, and his fine form and bearing made him exceedingly noticeable. Starr could hear women about her whispering to their escorts: "Who is he?" and her heart gave strange little throbs to think that she knew. It seemed odd to her that she should be taken back by the sight of him now through all the years to that morning in Florida when she had kissed him in the chapel. Somehow there seemed something sweet and tender in the memory and she dwelt upon it, while she watched him looking calmly over the audience, rising and moving to let another pass him, bowing and smiling to a noted judge who leaned over to grasp his hand. Did young lawyers like that get to know noted judges? And wherever did he get his grace? There was rhythm and beauty in his every motion. Starr had never had such a splendid opportunity to look at him before, for in all that sea of faces she knew hers would be lost to him, and she might watch him at her will.




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