Miss Bower spend the summer there, studying
quietly? The capitalist suggested that his sister might enjoy a summer on
Long Island; he would rent the Griffith's place for her, with all the
servants, and Eden could stay there. But his sister met this proposal
with a cold stare. So it fell out, that between selfishness and greed,
Eden got a summer all her own,--which really did a great deal toward
making her an artist and whatever else she was afterward to become. She
had time to look about, to watch without being watched; to select
diamonds in one window and furs in another, to select shoulders and
moustaches in the big hotels where she went to lunch. She had the easy
freedom of obscurity and the consciousness of power. She enjoyed both.
She was in no hurry.

While Eden Bower watched the pigeons, Don Hedger sat on the other side of
the bolted doors, looking into a pool of dark turpentine, at his idle
brushes, wondering why a woman could do this to him. He, too, was sure of
his future and knew that he was a chosen man. He could not know, of
course, that he was merely the first to fall under a fascination which
was to be disastrous to a few men and pleasantly stimulating to many
thousands. Each of these two young people sensed the future, but not
completely. Don Hedger knew that nothing much would ever happen to him.
Eden Bower understood that to her a great deal would happen. But she did
not guess that her neighbour would have more tempestuous adventures
sitting in his dark studio than she would find in all the capitals of
Europe, or in all the latitude of conduct she was prepared to permit
herself.

V

One Sunday morning Eden was crossing the Square with a spruce young man
in a white flannel suit and a panama hat. They had been breakfasting at
the Brevoort and he was coaxing her to let him come up to her rooms and
sing for an hour.

"No, I've got to write letters. You must run along now. I see a friend of
mine over there, and I want to ask him about something before I go up."

"That fellow with the dog? Where did you pick him up?" the young man
glanced toward the seat under a sycamore where Hedger was reading the
morning paper.

"Oh, he's an old friend from the West," said Eden easily. "I won't
introduce you, because he doesn't like people. He's a recluse. Good-bye.
I can't be sure about Tuesday. I'll go with you if I have time after my
lesson." She nodded, left him, and went over to the seat littered with
news