an begins to
be serious, then he begins to be something." And her only answer would
be, "I wonder, Maurice, if Claire Lessing will wait for him?"

The two had frequent questions to answer as to Frank's doing and
prospects, and they had always bright things to say of him, even when
his letters gave them no such warrant. Their love for him made them read
large between the lines, and all they read was good.

Between Maurice and his brother no word of the guilty servant ever
passed. They each avoided it as an unpleasant subject. Frank had never
asked and his brother had never proffered aught of the outcome of the
case.

Mrs. Oakley had once suggested it. "Brother ought to know," she said,
"that Berry is being properly punished."

"By no means," replied her husband. "You know that it would only hurt
him. He shall never know if I have to tell him."

"You are right, Maurice, you are always right. We must shield Frank from
the pain it would cause him. Poor fellow! he is so sensitive."

Their hearts were still steadfastly fixed upon the union of this younger
brother with Claire Lessing. She had lately come into a fortune, and
there was nothing now to prevent it. They would have written Frank to
urge it, but they both believed that to try to woo him away from his art
was but to make him more wayward. That any woman could have power enough
to take him away from this jealous mistress they very much doubted. But
they could hope, and hope made them eager to open every letter that bore
the French postmark. Always it might contain news that he was coming
home, or that he had made a great success, or, better, some inquiry
after Claire. A long time they had waited, but found no such tidings in
the letters from Paris.

At last, as Maurice Oakley sat in his library one day, the servant
brought him a letter more bulky in weight and appearance than any he had
yet received. His eyes glistened with pleasure as he read the postmark.
"A letter from Frank," he said joyfully, "and an important one, I 'll
wager."

He smiled as he weighed it in his hand and caressed it. Mrs. Oakley was
out shopping, and as he knew how deep her interest was, he hesitated to
break the seal before she returned. He curbed his natural desire and
laid the heavy envelope down on the desk. But he could not deny himself
the pleasure of speculating as to its contents.

It was such a large, interesting-looking package. What might it not
contain? It simply reeked of