is own energetic, busy mother; and he understood Sandy's
mother, too. He knew that his money made him well worth any mother's
attention.

But, like her mother, he believed Sandy too young to have taken any
cognizance of it. He thought the girl liked him as she liked anyone
else, for his own value, and he sometimes dreamed shyly of her pleasure
in suddenly realizing that Mrs. Owen Sargent would be a rich woman, the
mistress of a lovely home, the owner of beautiful jewels.

Both, however, were mistaken in Sandy. Her blue, blue eyes, so oddly
effective under the silky fall of her straight, mouse-colored hair,
were very keen. She knew exactly why her mother suggested that Owen
should bring her here or there in the car, "Daddy and the boys and I
will go in our old trap, just behind you!" She knew that Owen thought
that her quick hand over his, in a game of hearts, the thoughtful stare
of her demure eyes, across the dinner table, the help she accepted so
casually, climbing into his big car--were all evidences that she was as
unconscious of his presence as Stan was. But in reality the future for
herself of which Sandy confidently dreamed was one in which, in all
innocent complacency, she took her place beside Owen as his wife.
Clumsy, wild-haired, bashful he might be at twenty-two, but the
farsighted Sandy saw him ten years, twenty years later, well groomed,
assured of manner, devotedly happy in his home life. She considered him
entirely unable to take care of himself, he needed a good wife. And a
good, true, devoted wife Sandy knew she would be, fulfilling to her
utmost power all his lonely, little-boy dreams of birthday parties and
Christmas revels.

To do her justice, she really and deeply cared for him. Not with
passion, for of that as yet she knew nothing, but with a real and
absorbing affection. Sandy read "Love in a Valley" and the "Sonnets
from the Portuguese" in these days, and thought of Owen. Now and then
her well-disciplined little heart surprised her by an unexpected
flutter in his direction.

She duly brought him home with her to dinner on the evening after her
little talk with her parents. Owen was usually to be found browsing
about the region where Sandy played marches twice a week for sewing
classes in a neighborhood house. They often met, and Sandy sometimes
went to have tea with his mother, and sometimes, as to-day, brought him
home with her.

Owen had with him the letters, pamphlets and booklet issued