; and I just don't.
I'm sorry, I want to share every pleasure with you, but I don't like to
fish, and never will. You go alone. I'm just a hindrance to you." And
though he blustered at first, Laura had her way.

Once in the period of these three years Laura and her husband had gone
abroad. But her experience in England--they did not get to the
Continent--had been a disappointment to her. The museums, art
galleries, and cathedrals were not of the least interest to Jadwin, and
though he followed her from one to another with uncomplaining stoicism,
she felt his distress, and had contrived to return home three months
ahead of time.

It was during this trip that they had bought so many of the pictures
and appointments for the North Avenue house, and Laura's disappointment
over her curtailed European travels was mitigated by the anticipation
of her pleasure in settling in the new home. This had not been possible
immediately after their marriage. For nearly two years the great place
had been given over to contractors, architects, decorators, and
gardeners, and Laura and her husband had lived, while in Chicago, at a
hotel, giving up the one-time rectory on Cass Street to Page and to
Aunt Wess'.

But when at last Laura entered upon possession of the North Avenue
house, she was not--after the first enthusiasm and excitement over its
magnificence had died down--altogether pleased with it, though she told
herself the contrary. Outwardly it was all that she could desire. It
fronted Lincoln Park, and from all the windows upon that side the most
delightful outlooks were obtainable--green woods, open lawns, the
parade ground, the Lincoln monument, dells, bushes, smooth drives,
flower beds, and fountains. From the great bay window of Laura's own
sitting-room she could see far out over Lake Michigan, and watch the
procession of great lake steamers, from Milwaukee, far-distant Duluth,
and the Sault Sainte Marie--the famous "Soo"--defiling majestically
past, making for the mouth of the river, laden to the water's edge with
whole harvests of wheat. At night, when the windows were open in the
warm weather, she could hear the mournful wash and lapping of the water
on the embankments.

The grounds about her home were beautiful. The stable itself was half
again as large as her old home opposite St. James's, and the
conservatory, in which she took the keenest delight, was a wonderful
affair--a vast bubble-like structure of green panes, when