ch other. But you never saw husbands and
wives chatting together like love birds after the honeymoon. You
wanted a bright-cheeked, laughing girl, and you got her. If you were
faithful to each other, and didn't have rows, it was an ideal match,
especially if there were children.

Peter Rolls was very fond of his children. When they were little they
had been the joy of his life; the thought of them had been the only
one that warmed his heart and gave him almost superhuman energy to
take the future by the horns like a bull and force a ring through its
bleeding nose that it might be ready for them to ride when they grew
up.

Now they were grown up, and they were riding; and it was natural that
the fire of the heart should have calmed. He was proud of the pair,
very proud. Pete (no, he mustn't call him by that name. Ena didn't
like it, said it sounded common) Peter--or Petro, if he preferred--was
a gentleman and made a good show for every dollar that had been spent
on him. Put him with an Astor or a Livingston and you couldn't tell
the difference!

Once, a long time ago, old Peter had dreamed of a young Peter
succeeding him in the business; but Ena had made him see what a
foolish dream that was--foolish and inconsistent, too--because, what
was the good of slaving to satisfy your ambition, and then, when you
reached the goal, instead of profiting by what you'd got, ordering
your heir down to the level you'd worked to leave behind?

Peter senior had entirely come round to Ena's view, and instead of
regretting that Peter junior hadn't in him the making of a hard-boiled
man of business who'll do anything to succeed, father stopped Peter
abruptly whenever he showed an inconvenient sign of interest in the
Hands and what went on under the glitter of their rings. Nor was
Peter's interest of the right kind. It was not what Peter senior
called practical.

Ena, now! There was a girl to be proud of. Father was so proud that
pride of his splendid daughter had frozen out or covered with ashes
the glow which used to fill his heart at the thought of her. But pride
was the right thing! That was what he had worked for: to make of his
children a man and woman to be proud of when the top stone was on his
pile.

Ena was _more_ than a lady. She was an orchid, a princess. She ruled
father with her little finger--a beautifully manicured, rose-and-white
finger, such as he had hardly seen when he was young. There was so
much of himself in En