Then I found also what Lance said of her charity to the poor was perfectly true--they worshipped her.

No saint was a greater saint to them than the woman whom I believed I had seen drown a little child.
It seemed as though she could hardly do enough for them; the minute she heard that any one was sick or sorry she went to their aid.

I have known this beautiful woman, whose husband adored her, give up a ball or a party to sit with some poor woman whose child was ill, or was ill herself.

And I must speak, too, of her devotion--to see the earnest, tender piety on her beautiful face was marvelous.
"Look, John," Lance would whisper to me; "my wife looks like an angel." I was obliged to own that she did.

But what was the soul like that animated the beautiful body?
When we were talking--and we spent many hours together in the garden--I was struck with the beauty and nobility of her ideas.