arsely generous heart. Sylvie so delicate and
refined, with her pretty ways, her genius,--yes, she really did have a
genius! In Paris or Rome she might make herself quite a name. He must
see a little more of her: he must--well, did he want to marry any one?

Irene and Gertrude retired to the room of the former, and discussed
Newport and Saratoga.

"I do hope we shall have a cottage at Newport another summer," said Mrs.
Eastman.

"It gives you tone, of course," was Irene's response; "but honest, now,
Gerty, don't you think it a little poky? I do not want to go anywhere
for a whole summer: I like the fun of all. Agatha is to spend a month at
Long Branch, and I am going down just for a little dazzle and to give my
gowns an airing."

Their siesta was passed in this kind of small talk. Late in the
afternoon she drove Mrs. Eastman home, and then went for Sylvie in her
pretty pony-phaeton. As Sylvie was about nothing more important than a
pale-blue zephyr "fascinator," she accepted the invitation.

What a delicious drive it was! A dappled under-roof of cloud with the
sun just behind it, a golden-gray haze filming the air, and fragrant
breezes suggestive of roses and honeysuckle. All the way was starred
with daisies. Sylvie drew in long breaths of delight, for she never
wearied of nature.

They turned homeward early. The bells were ringing for six, and the
mills and factories began to empty out their swarm of human beings.

"Why do you go through here?" asked Sylvie in surprise. "I thought you
hated all this."

"So I do," briefly.

She let the pony walk now. These shrill sounds jarred on the summer air.
Groups of girls in procession in faded gear or tawdry finery; brawny men
with an old-country, heavy cast of feature, in blue flannel, with arms
bared to the elbow, and throats exposed; pale stripling youths of the
American type, boys with the rough fun not yet knocked out of them by
hard work or the harder blows of fate,--a motley crowd indeed.

It thinned a little just here. Two or three men came along
leisurely,--one tall and compact, with a slow, firm step, the face
grave, the eyes glancing over beyond the hills. Irene Lawrence shut her
lips with a touch of displeasure. Was she to miss the satisfaction that
had been brooding in her mind for the last hour, for the accomplishment
of which she had driven through this dusty, ill-smelling street?

The pedestrian raised his head. A sudden warm, smiling glow overspread