t of the material ozone she was thinking
as she spoke.

"I believe I will try it. My constitution is running down at the rate of
an alarm clock. I must take my choice between a tonic and an early
grave. Will you vouch for like good results in my case?"

Evadne shook her head. "I do not believe it would have the same effect
upon everyone," she said.

"Ah, then I shall be compelled to go to Europe."

Evadne looked at him. "Yes," she said, "I think Europe would suit you
better."

"That is unfortunate,--for the Judge's purse. How is Aunt Marthe?"

"She is well," she answered with a sudden stillness in her voice. She
could not trust herself to talk about this friend of hers to careless
questioners. "How is Uncle Lawrence, and all the others?"

"The Judge is in his usual state of health, I fancy. We rarely meet
except at the table and then you know personal questions are not
considered in good form. The others are well, and Isabelle, having just
returned from the metropolis of Fashion, is more than ever _au fait_ in
the usages of polite society. But none of them have improved like you,
little coz. What has changed you so?"

And she answered softly, with a new light shining in her lovely
eyes,--"Jesus Christ."

* * * * *

"You poor Evadne!" said Marion that evening, "what a dreary summer you
must have had, shut away among those stupid mountains! If you could only
have been with me, now. I never had such a lovely vacation in my life.
There seemed to be some excitement every day;--picnics and boating
parties and tennis matches and five o'clocks----"

Evadne laughed. "You would better not let Uncle Horace know you are 'a
votary of the deadly five o'clock' or he will empty his vials of
denunciation upon your unlucky head.

"Oh, Aunt Kate, he sent you a large bundle of fraternal greetings. He
says that, 'viewed through the glamour of memory, you impress him like
an Alpine landscape, when the sun is rising, and he hopes the soft
brilliance of prosperity will ever envelop you in its radiance and serve
to enhance the beauty of your stately calm.'"

Mrs. Hildreth smiled, well pleased. "Horace is so poetical," she said,
"but all the Everidges are clever. What a shame it seems that a man of
his talent should be forced by ill health to exist in a place where
there is not a single soul capable of appreciating his rare qualities.
Even his wife does not begin to understand him. It seems like cas