ould never require
obedience, though he might sue for it.

Her danger lay in herself. "If he _does_ ask me to be his real
wife--then I must either agree or leave. It won't be right for me to
take all these benefits unless--"

And with this thought, the big house in the Springs, the sleek horses,
their shining carriages, the auto-car, her dresses, the service of the
big hotel, and the consideration her husband's money gave to her, all
assumed a new and corrupting lustre. She was growing accustomed to
luxury and the thought of giving it up made her shiver like one who
faces a plunge into a dark night and an icy river. Besides, her
sacrifice would involve others. Her mother, her brother, were already
roundly ensnared in Mart's bounty.

Her head was aching with it all, when a comforting thought came to her.
It was not necessary to decide it at that moment, and with a sigh of
relief she threw it aside and sat down to write a letter to her mother.

"I ought to have written before, but I've been jumped right into the
middle of things here. The letters Frank Congdon gave me took me into an
artistic bunch about as gay and queer as Frank is, but they've been
mighty nice to me. I've been setting for my bust to Mr. Moss, who is a
sculptor. He has a big studio clear on the top of one of the tallest
blocks here and has some dandy lamps and things. I've bought some to
bring back. I met a Mr. Humiston there from New York, and he made a
sketch of me--wants me to see his studio in New York. I don't know
whether I'll go on or let Mart go with Lucius. Lucius is all right--I
don't see how I got on without him. He knows everything. I wish I had
half the education he's got. He's up on all the society ways and puts me
on. For instance, he told me the nice thing would be to give a dinner to
this artist push and to the people that Dorothy give me a letter to, and
I'm going to do it. Lucius will look out for the whole thing. You should
see the way the waiters tend. I reckon Lucius has told 'em we're made of
money. I'm afraid we're getting spoilt, Muzz. It would be pretty tough
to go back to the hotel now, wouldn't it?

"We went to see Mart's sister, Fanny. Her house was a sight. It was
clean enough, but littered--well, litter is no name for it--but she's a
good old thing and so is McArdle. He sat and looked at us the whole time
like a turkey blind in one eye--never said a word the whole time but
'pass the p-taties.' I liked him though. He's