the
way of working. I was glad when Jessica came home to set up our little
establishment and to join in the autumn gayeties. Brainard brought his
wife to the city soon after, and went to housekeeping in an odd sort of
a way.

"I couldn't see anything in the place save curios," Jessica reported,
after her first call on them. "I suppose there is a cookingstove
somewhere, and maybe even a pantry with pots in it. But all I saw was
Alaska totems and Navajo blankets. They have as many skins around on
the floor and couches as would have satisfied an ancient Briton. And
everybody was calling there. You know Mr. Brainard runs to curios in
selecting his friends as well as his furniture. The parlors were full
this afternoon of abnormal people, that is to say, with folks one reads
about. I was the only one there who hadn't done something. I guess it's
because I am too healthy."

"How did Mrs. Brainard like such a motley crew?"

"She was wonderful--perfectly wonderful! Those insulting creatures were
all studying her, and she knew it. But her dignity was perfect, and she
looked as proud as a Sioux chief. She listened to every one, and they
all thought her so bright."

"Brainard must have been tremendously proud of her."

"Oh, he was--of her and his Chilcat portieres."

Jessica was there often, but--well, I was busy. At length, however, I
was forced to go. Jessica refused to make any further excuses for me.
The rooms were filled with small celebrities.

"We are the only nonentities," whispered Jessica, as she looked around;
"it will make us quite distinguished."

We went to speak to our hostess. She stood beside her husband, looking
taller than ever; and her face was white. Her long red gown of clinging
silk was so peculiar as to give one the impression that she was dressed
in character. It was easy to tell that it was one of Leroy's fancies. I
hardly heard what she said, but I know she reproached me gently for not
having been to see them. I had no further word with her till some one
led her to the piano, and she paused to say,--

"That poet you spoke of to me--the one you said was a friend of
yours--he is my friend now too, and I have learned to sing some of his
songs. I am going to sing one now." She seemed to have no timidity at
all, but stood quietly, with a half smile, while a young man with a
Russian name played a strange minor prelude. Then she sang, her voice
a wonderful contralto, cold at times, and again lit up w