ould have refused him
anything if he had smiled at her like that when he asked for it?"

Miss Stapylton gazed up at the portrait for a long time now, her hands
clasped under her chin. Her face was gently reproachful.

"Oh, boy dear, boy dear!" she said, with a forlorn little quaver in her
voice, "how _could_ you be _so_ foolish? _Didn't_ you know there was
something better in the world than grubbing after musty old tribes and
customs and folk-songs? Oh, precious child, how could you?"

Gerald Musgrave smiled back at her, ambiguously; and Rudolph Musgrave
laughed. "I perceive," said he, "you are a follower of Epicurus. For my
part, I must have fetched my ideals from the tub of the Stoic. I can
conceive of no nobler life than one devoted to furthering the cause of
science."

She looked up at him, with a wan smile. "A barren life!" she said: "ah,
yes, his was a wasted life! His books are all out-of-date now, and
nobody reads them, and it is just as if he had never been. A barren
life, Olaf! And that beautiful boy might have had so much fun--Life is
queer, isn't it, Olaf?"

Again he laughed, "The criticism," he suggested, "is not altogether
original. And Science, no less than War, must have her unsung heroes.
You must remember," he continued, more seriously, "that any great work
must have as its foundation the achievements of unknown men. I fancy
that Cheops did not lay every brick in his pyramid with his own hand;
and I dare say Nebuchadnezzar employed a few helpers when he was laying
out his hanging gardens. But time cannot chronicle these lesser men.
Their sole reward must be the knowledge that they have aided somewhat in
the unending work of the world."

Her face had altered into a pink and white penitence which was flavored
with awe.

"I--I forgot," she murmured, contritely; "I--forgot you were--like
him--about your genealogies, you know. Oh, Olaf, I'm very silly! Of
course, it is tremendously fine and--and nice, I dare say, if you like
it,--to devote your life to learning, as you and he have done. I forgot,
Olaf. Still, I am sorry, somehow, for that beautiful boy," she ended,
with a disconsolate glance at the portrait.

VII

Long after Miss Stapylton had left him, the colonel sat alone in his
study, idle now, and musing vaguely. There were no more addenda
concerning the descendants of Captain Thomas Osborne that night.

At last, the colonel rose and threw open a window, and stood looking
into the