“No, I do not mean to do that,” replied Mildred, thoughtfully; “but I cannot let this disgrace come to them when I can help it as well as not, and it is a rather awkward thing for me to dictate conditions to a man who is old enough to be my father, one who has risked his life on many a battlefield, and is a genius and a famous scholar. I cannot lay the blame on his wife. She adores him, and he thinks her failures are better than other people’s successes. The whole family in fact forms the most genuine mutual admiration society. They seem utterly oblivious of the fact that in letting their milkman’s bill go unpaid, and in giving their children money to go riding in the goat carriage in the park, they are doing anything dishonorable.
“Every one who knows them says they have no more wisdom in bringing up their children than two babies. They let them eat and drink what they like, sit up as late as they like, and care more about their speaking French and German well than about their knowing the multiplication table, or anything practical.
“If they were not such devout churchpeople, one would not be so amazed at this extravagance,” ejaculated Mildred warmly, “though perhaps genius may be pardoned for lacking common sense and common honesty,” she added, grimly.
Then rising, she continued, as she put on her hat and gloves: “I know what I shall do. I have a scheme for helping him in a way that will be something more than merely giving him immediate material aid. I know a dear old lady who used to be papa’s friend and his, and I will go at once to see her. She can tell me some facts that I need to know.”
Two hours later, she had but just returned when the General called.
He looked nervous and flushed, and I never saw Mildred seem more embarrassed. In an adjoining room I awaited with some impatience the close of the interview.
At last she came into my room, and throwing herself down on the white bear-skin rug before the grate, she exclaimed, with a little groan, “There, I’ve done it, though it was the most painful thing I ever did in my life. I felt that I must seem so mean and arrogant to make myself the arbiter of the fate of a man like him, and to dictate terms which must have been horribly humiliating. Think of my setting myself up to instruct a man who has deserved the honor of the friendship of men like Mazzini and Von Moltke and Carlyle and Sumner.”
“How did you begin?” I queried, realizing for the first time what a difficult thing this must have been to a generous-hearted girl like Mildred.
“Oh,” she said, “I began by reminding him of his kindness to papa, and assuring him that I was ready and glad to be of assistance to him. He looked so grateful that I found it almost impossible to screw up my courage to continue. But, after stammering over it a minute, I put on a bold front and went on to say that I felt it my duty to make my gift, for it was to be a gift, not a loan, upon certain stringent conditions in order that similar circumstances might not occur again. I would state what they were, and then he might consult with his family and let me know whether he would accept them or not.
“He replied sadly, ‘I am in your hands, Miss Brewster. There is no question of my volition in the matter.’