"Do you know that Leaycraft has gone to keep books
for a manufacturing concern out in Dubuque?"

Jadwin pulled his mustache. He was looking at Laura Dearborn over the
heads of Landry and the Gretry girl.

"I didn't suppose he'd be getting measured for a private yacht," he
murmured. Then he continued, pulling his mustache vigorously:

"Charlie, upon my word, what a beautiful--what beautiful hair that girl
has!"

Laura was wearing it very high that evening, the shining black coils
transfixed by a strange hand-cut ivory comb that had been her
grandmother's. She was dressed in black taffeta, with a single great
cabbage-rose pinned to her shoulder. She sat very straight in her
chair, one hand upon her slender hip, her head a little to one side,
listening attentively to Corthell.

By this time the household of the former rectory was running smoothly;
everything was in place, the Dearborns were "settled," and a routine
had begun. Her first month in her new surroundings had been to Laura an
unbroken series of little delights. For formal social distractions she
had but little taste. She left those to Page, who, as soon as Lent was
over, promptly became involved in a bewildering round of teas, "dancing
clubs," dinners, and theatre parties. Mrs. Wessels was her chaperone,
and the little middle-aged lady found the satisfaction of a belated
youth in conveying her pretty niece to the various functions that
occupied her time. Each Friday night saw her in the gallery of a
certain smart dancing school of the south side, where she watched Page
dance her way from the "first waltz" to the last figure of the german.
She counted the couples carefully, and on the way home was always able
to say how the attendance of that particular evening compared with that
of the former occasion, and also to inform Laura how many times Page
had danced with the same young man.

Laura herself was more serious. She had begun a course of reading; no
novels, but solemn works full of allusions to "Man" and "Destiny,"
which she underlined and annotated. Twice a week--on Mondays and
Thursdays--she took a French lesson. Corthell managed to enlist the
good services of Mrs. Wessels and escorted her to numerous piano and
'cello recitals, to lectures, to concerts. He even succeeded in
achieving the consecration of a specified afternoon once a week, spent
in his studio in the Fine Arts' Building on the Lake Front, where he
read to them "Saint Agnes Eve," "Sordello