rl any more, but a woman
grown, with some serious responsibilities, and yet she was not really
suited to the role. As a matter of fact, her thoughts were always
fixed on the artistic, social, and dramatic aspects of life, with
unfortunately a kind of nebulosity of conception which permitted no
condensation into anything definite or concrete. She could only be
wildly and feverishly interested. Just then the door clicked to
Frank's key--it was nearing six--and in he came, smiling, confident, a
perfect atmosphere of assurance.

"Well!" he observed, surveying her in the soft glow of the
reception-room lighted by wall candles judiciously arranged. "Who's the
vision floating around here? I'm almost afraid to touch you. Much
powder on those arms?"

He drew her into his arms, and she put up her mouth with a sense of
relief. Obviously, he must think that she looked charming.

"I am chalky, I guess. You'll just have to stand it, though. You're
going to dress, anyhow."

She put her smooth, plump arms about his neck, and he felt pleased.
This was the kind of a woman to have--a beauty. Her neck was
resplendent with a string of turquoise, her fingers too heavily
jeweled, but still beautiful. She was faintly redolent of hyacinth or
lavender. Her hair appealed to him, and, above all, the rich yellow
silk of her dress, flashing fulgurously through the closely netted
green.

"Charming, girlie. You've outdone yourself. I haven't seen this dress
before. Where did you get it?"

"Here in Chicago."

He lifted her warm fingers, surveying her train, and turned her about.

"You don't need any advice. You ought to start a school."

"Am I all right?" she queried, smartly, but with a sense of
self-distrust for the moment, and all because of him.

"You're perfect. Couldn't be nicer. Splendid!"

She took heart.

"I wish your friends would think so. You'd better hurry."

He went up-stairs, and she followed, looking first into the dining-room
again. At least that was right. Surely Frank was a master.

At seven the plop of the feet of carriage-horses was heard, and a
moment later Louis, the butler, was opening the door. Aileen went
down, a little nervous, a little frigid, trying to think of many
pleasant things, and wondering whether she would really succeed in
being entertaining. Cowperwood accompanied her, a very different
person in so far as mood and self-poise were concerned. To himself his
own future was alwa