iness to me."

As Crego had said, the Congdons were privileged characters in the
Springs. They were at once haughty with the pride of esthetic
cleverness, and humble with the sense of their unworthiness in the wide
old-world of art. Lee was contemptuous of wealth when they had a pot of
beans in the house, and Frank was imperiously truculent when borrowing
ten dollars from a friend or demanding an advance of cash from a
prospective patron. They both came of long lines of native American
ancestry, and not only felt themselves as good as anybody, but a little
better than most. They gave wit for champagne, art instruction for
automobile rides, and never-failing good humor for house-room and the
blazing fires of roomy hearths.

Mrs. Congdon, of direct Virginian ancestry, was named Lee by a
state's-rights mother, who sent her abroad to "study art." She ended by
pretending to be a sculptor--and she still did occasionally model a
figurine of her friends or her friends' babies; mainly, she was the
aider and abettor of her husband, a really clever portrait-painter,
whose ill health had driven him from New York to Colorado, and who was
making a precarious living in the Springs--precarious for the reason
that on bright days he would rather play golf than handle a brush, and
on dark days he _couldn't_ see to paint (so he said). In truth, he was
not well, and his slender store of strength did not permit him to do as
he would. To cover the real seriousness of his case he loudly admitted
his laziness and incompetency.

Lee was a devoted wife, and when she realized that his interest in the
Haneys was deep and genuine her slight opposition gave way. It meant a
couple of thousand dollars to Frank, but money was the least of their
troubles--credit seemed to come along when they needed it most, and each
of them had become "trustful to the point of idiocy," Mrs. Crego was
accustomed to say. Mrs. Crego really took charge of their affairs, and
when they needed food helped them to it.

Starting for the Haneys on the street-car that very afternoon, Lee
reached the gate just as Bertie was helping Mart into his carriage.
There was something so genuine and so touching in this picture of the
slender young wife supporting her big and crippled husband that Mrs.
Congdon's nerves thrilled and her face softened. Plainly this
consideration on the part of Mrs. Haney was habitual and ungrudging.

Bertie, as she faced her caller, saw only a pale little