celebrated Uncle Win's legacy by a prompt visit to my tailor, and the
results of this visit went far to stock the new leather trunk that I
recklessly purchased for the shocking price such commodities command
in America. At the end of a successfully costly day I registered
myself, the trunk, with its brilliant identification label, a new
silver-topped blackthorn, and the best bull terrier I could get in New
York, at the new monster hotel I had never before entered, with a
strange feeling of an identity as new as my overcoat. This terrier, by
the way, marked my definite division from Roger more than anything
else could have done. I have always been fond of animals, dogs
especially, and as a little fellow was never without some
ignominiously bred cur at my heels; but Roger never cared for them,
and little by little I had dropped the attempt to keep one, since he
objected to exercising them in town, did not care to bother with them
in the country, and absolutely refused to endure the encumbrance of
one while travelling. Not that he was ever cruel or careless: when
thrown into necessary relations with animals he was far more just and
thoughtful of them than many a sentimental animal lover of my
acquaintance! Strangely enough, I have never seen a dog or cat that
would not go to him in preference to almost anyone else--one of
nature's ironies.

With Kitchener (not of Khartoum, then!) curled at the foot of my bed
in a brand new collar, I went to sleep, woke early, and took the first
train to Stratford to say good-bye to my mother and receive her
congratulations on my legacy.

Everything was unchanged in the neat little house: only old Jeanne in
her bed in a wonderful nightcap marked the visit as different from any
other. Years had ceased to leave any mark on my mother since her hair
had turned grey, and I might have been a collegian again as I kissed
her.

What extraordinary creatures women are! She knew inside of ten
minutes, I am sure, as well as Sarah Bradley had known, how matters
stood with me, and whenever I spoke of Margarita an inscrutable look
was in her eye and she stroked my arm in a delicate, mute sympathy.
Nor did she refer to my children any more or her hopes that I would
_ranger_ myself and settle down. If she sighed a little at the news of
my projected _wander jahr_, she did not beg me to set any term for it,
and cheerfully congratulated herself upon my known faithfulness in the
matter of correspondence. The