MRS. WINDERMERE
between the tables with the éclairs. "They call me 'The Helper.' It sounds like something in a mystery play, doesn't it?"
"Oh yes. It's—it's a beautiful name."
"It does seem to be a sort of gift," said Mrs. Windermere, looking beyond her, "something given one to use. You see, I do see things other people can't see, and tell them, and help them to straighten out. Well, take your case. . . . And I've another friend in Italy, the one I was going to stay with after we parted—I don't know if I told you about her? Well, she left her husband. She grew up, and found she didn't need him any more. Well, I saw all that for her and was able to help her. I told the other man how things stood—such a manly fellow! He'd been hanging back, not understanding. Well, they went. I bought their tickets for them and saw them off to Italy. They've been having difficult times, but they'll straighten out—I'm still able to help them. I've been staying there a good deal. I am able to help them."
"I suppose they did feel it was the right thing to do," said Esmée.
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