native but to
follow her example. I took pains, however, to choose one which brought
me into the shadow of the vines, for I felt some embarrassment at this
new turn in the conversation, and was conscious that I should have more
or less difficulty in hiding my only too intense interest in all that
concerned the lady of whom we were speaking.

"Mrs. Ocumpaugh was a western woman," Mrs. Carew began softly; "the
oldest of five daughters. There was not much money in the family, but
she had beauty, a commanding, all-conquering beauty; not the beauty you
see in her to-day, but that exquisite, persuasive loveliness which
seizes upon the imagination as well as moves the heart. I have a picture
of her at eighteen--but never mind that."

Was it affection for her friend which made Mrs. Carew's always rich
voice so very mellow? I wished I knew; but I was successful, I think, in
keeping that wish out of my face, and preserving my manner of the simply
polite listener.

"Mr. Ocumpaugh was on a hunting trip," she proceeded, after a slight
glance my way. "He had traveled the world over and seen beautiful women
everywhere; but there was something in Marion Allison which he had found
in no other, and at the end of their first interview he determined to
make her his wife. A man of impulses, but also a man of steady
resolution, Mr. Trevitt. Perhaps you know this?"

I bowed. "A strong man," I remarked.

"And a romantic one. He had this intention from the first, as I have
said, but he wished to make himself sure of her heart. He knew how his
advantages counted; how hard it is for a woman to disassociate the man
from his belongings, and having a spirit of some daring, he resolved
that this 'pearl of the west'--so I have heard him call her--should
marry the man and not his money."

"Was he as wealthy then as now?"

"Almost. Possibly he was not quite such a power in the financial world,
but he had Homewood in almost as beautiful a condition as now, though
the new house was not put up till after his marriage. He courted
her--not as the landscape painter of Tennyson's poem--but as a rising
young business man who had made his way sufficiently to give her a good
home. This home he did not have to describe, since her own imagination
immediately pictured it as much below the one she lived in, as he was
years younger than her hardworked father. Delighted with this naivete,
he took pains not to disabuse her mind of the simple prospects with
whic