ooms never do seem homelike, do they?"

"Most of my life has been spent in hotels," returned Marsh, as they
strolled toward the curb. "My parents died before I was twenty, and
since then I have led a roving life." He signaled a passing taxi,
and directed the chauffeur to take them to Lincoln Park.

Marsh glanced down Oak Street as the car flashed by. The mysterious
shadows that hung over the street at night, and the recent tragic
incident which had taken place there, seemed almost like a dream to
Marsh, as he saw the street stretch peacefully toward the west in
the light of the late afternoon sun. Marsh's attention was quickly
diverted, however, for at this point the tall buildings, the smoky
streets, and the crowds were left behind. At one side began the long
line of palatial residences that has brought to this section of
Chicago the sobriquet of "The Gold Coast." On the other side lay a
strip of park, and beyond that stretched the rolling waters of Lake
Michigan, as far as the eye could see.

"This is what I like about Chicago," exclaimed Marsh. "After a day
in the hurry and bustle and grind of the business district, you are
swept in a few minutes into a region of trees, grass and spreading
waters. At one stroke you seem to leave the seething city behind and
enter into the wide spaces of the earth."

"You speak like a poet," declared the girl, "rather than a plain
business man."

"Perhaps," returned Marsh, in a low voice, "it is because of
something new that has come into my life."

The girl's eyes looked into his for a moment, and seemed to read
something there, for she turned with heightened color to look out
over the lake.

They sat in silence for the next few minutes; then Marsh leaned
forward and opened the door of the taxi. "We'll stop here," he
called to the driver.

"Have you been in Lincoln Park before?" he inquired, as they
strolled north.

"Only to pass through in the bus," returned Jane.

"I think," commented Marsh, "that this is one of the prettiest
parks. I presume that those rolling hills are artificial, but they
are certainly a relief, after the monotonous flatness of the rest of
the city. There is one, just ahead of us, that is the highest in the
park. I want to take you there, for it is a place where I have often
sat during the last few months, when I wanted to be alone and
think."

"I believe," said Jane, "that this is the first time you have really
told me anything abort yourself."