which
most conversation concerns itself. He was not laying bare his
desires for any one to see. He did not find any one in the house who
particularly cared to see.

Mrs. Hurstwood was the type of woman who has ever endeavoured to
shine and has been more or less chagrined at the evidences of superior
capability in this direction elsewhere. Her knowledge of life extended
to that little conventional round of society of which she was not--but
longed to be--a member. She was not without realisation already
that this thing was impossible, so far as she was concerned. For her
daughter, she hoped better things. Through Jessica she might rise
a little. Through George, Jr.'s, possible success she might draw to
herself the privilege of pointing proudly. Even Hurstwood was doing well
enough, and she was anxious that his small real estate adventures should
prosper. His property holdings, as yet, were rather small, but his
income was pleasing and his position with Fitzgerald and Moy was fixed.
Both those gentlemen were on pleasant and rather informal terms with
him.

The atmosphere which such personalities would create must be apparent to
all. It worked out in a thousand little conversations, all of which were
of the same calibre.

"I'm going up to Fox Lake to-morrow," announced George, Jr., at the
dinner table one Friday evening.

"What's going on up there?" queried Mrs. Hurstwood.

"Eddie Fahrway's got a new steam launch, and he wants me to come up and
see how it works."

"How much did it cost him?" asked his mother.

"Oh, over two thousand dollars. He says it's a dandy."

"Old Fahrway must be making money," put in Hurstwood.

"He is, I guess. Jack told me they were shipping Vegacura to Australia
now--said they sent a whole box to Cape Town last week."

"Just think of that!" said Mrs. Hurstwood, "and only four years ago they
had that basement in Madison Street."

"Jack told me they were going to put up a six-story building next spring
in Robey Street."

"Just think of that!" said Jessica.

On this particular occasion Hurstwood wished to leave early.

"I guess I'll be going down town," he remarked, rising.

"Are we going to McVicker's Monday?" questioned Mrs. Hurstwood, without
rising.

"Yes," he said indifferently.

They went on dining, while he went upstairs for his hat and coat.
Presently the door clicked.

"I guess papa's gone," said Jessica.

The latter's school news was of a particular stripe.

"Th