ey're going to give a performance in the Lyceum, upstairs," she
reported one day, "and I'm going to be in it."

"Are you?" said her mother.

"Yes, and I'll have to have a new dress. Some of the nicest girls in the
school are going to be in it. Miss Palmer is going to take the part of
Portia."

"Is she?" said Mrs. Hurstwood.

"They've got that Martha Griswold in it again. She thinks she can act."

"Her family doesn't amount to anything, does it?" said Mrs. Hurstwood
sympathetically. "They haven't anything, have they?"

"No," returned Jessica, "they're poor as church mice."

She distinguished very carefully between the young boys of the school,
many of whom were attracted by her beauty.

"What do you think?" she remarked to her mother one evening; "that
Herbert Crane tried to make friends with me."

"Who is he, my dear?" inquired Mrs. Hurstwood.

"Oh, no one," said Jessica, pursing her pretty lips. "He's just a
student there. He hasn't anything."

The other half of this picture came when young Blyford, son of Blyford,
the soap manufacturer, walked home with her. Mrs. Hurstwood was on the
third floor, sitting in a rocking-chair reading, and happened to look
out at the time.

"Who was that with you, Jessica?" she inquired, as Jessica came
upstairs.

"It's Mr. Blyford, mamma," she replied.

"Is it?" said Mrs. Hurstwood.

"Yes, and he wants me to stroll over into the park with him," explained
Jessica, a little flushed with running up the stairs.

"All right, my dear," said Mrs. Hurstwood. "Don't be gone long."

As the two went down the street, she glanced interestedly out of the
window. It was a most satisfactory spectacle indeed, most satisfactory.

In this atmosphere Hurstwood had moved for a number of years, not
thinking deeply concerning it. His was not the order of nature to
trouble for something better, unless the better was immediately and
sharply contrasted. As it was, he received and gave, irritated sometimes
by the little displays of selfish indifference, pleased at times by some
show of finery which supposedly made for dignity and social distinction.
The life of the resort which he managed was his life. There he spent
most of his time. When he went home evenings the house looked nice.
With rare exceptions the meals were acceptable, being the kind that an
ordinary servant can arrange. In part, he was interested in the talk
of his son and daughter, who always looked well. The vanity of Mrs.
Hur