at the wheel, a
strange figure in leather, goggled out of all personality and seemingly
part of the mechanism.

Eugene himself, as he came up the cement path to the house, was a figure
of the new era which was in time to be so disastrous to stiff hats and
skirted coats; and his appearance afforded a debonair contrast to that
of the queer-looking duck capering: at the Amberson Ball in an old dress
coat, and chugging up National Avenue through the snow in his nightmare
of a sewing-machine. Eugene, this afternoon, was richly in the new
outdoor mode: motoring coat was soft gray fur; his cap and gloves were
of gray suede; and though Lucy's hand may have shown itself in the
selection of these garnitures, he wore them easily, even with becoming
hint of jauntiness. Some change might be his face, too, for a successful
man is seldom to be mistaken, especially if his temper be genial. Eugene
had begun to look like a millionaire.

But above everything else, what was most evident about him, as he came
up the path, was confidence in the happiness promised by his errand; the
anticipation in his eyes could have been read by a stranger. His look
at the door of Isabel's house was the look of a man who is quite
certain that the next moment will reveal something ineffably charming,
inexpressibly dear.

When the bell rang, George waited at the entrance of the "reception
room" until a housemaid came through the hall on her way to answer the
summons.

"You needn't mind, Mary," he told her. "I'll see who it is and what they
want. Probably it's only a pedlar."

"Thank you, sir, Mister George," said Mary; and returned to the rear of
the house.

George went slowly to the front door, and halted, regarding the misty
silhouette of the caller upon the ornamental frosted glass. After a
minute of waiting, this silhouette changed outline so that an arm
could be distinguished--an arm outstretched toward the bell, as if the
gentleman outside doubted whether or not it had sounded, and were minded
to try again. But before the gesture was completed George abruptly threw
open the door, and stepped squarely upon the middle of the threshold.

A slight change shadowed the face of Eugene; his look of happy
anticipation gave way to something formal and polite. "How do you
do, George," he said. "Mrs. Minafer expects to go driving with me, I
believe--if you'll be so kind as to send her word that I'm here."

George made not the slightest movement.

"No,"