rely, was supposed to have ideals. Her family, indeed, was an old
one on the island, and was prominent long before the building of the
stone bridge on Canal Street over the outlet of Collect Pond. Those who
knew Edith well detected in her that strain of moral earnestness which
made the old Fletchers such stanch and trusty citizens. The wonder was
not that Jack, with his easy susceptibility to refined beauty, should
have been attracted to her, or have responded to a true instinct of
what was best for him, but that Edith should have taken up with such a
perfect type of the aimlessness of the society strata of modern life.
The wonder, however, was based upon a shallow conception of the nature
of woman. It would have been more wonderful if the qualities that
endeared Jack to college friends and club men, to the mighty sportsmen
who do not hesitate, in the clubs, to devastate Canada and the United
States of big game, and to the border ruffians of Dakota, should not
have gone straight to the tender heart of a woman of ideals. And when in
all history was there a woman who did not believe, when her heart went
with respect for certain manly traits, that she could inspire and lift a
man into a noble life?

The silver clock in the breakfast-room was striking ten, and Edith was
already seated at the coffee-urn, when Jack appeared. She was as fresh
as a rose, and greeted him with a bright smile as he came behind her
chair and bent over for the morning kiss--a ceremony of affection which,
if omitted, would have left a cloud on the day for both of them, and
which Jack always declared was simply a necessity, or the coffee would
have no flavor. But when a man has picked a rose, it is always a sort
of climax which is followed by an awkward moment, and Jack sat down with
the air of a man who has another day to get through with.

"Were you amused with the dancing--this morning?"

"So, so," said Jack, sipping his coffee. "It was a stunning place for
it, that studio; you'd have liked that. The Lamons and Mavick and a lot
of people from the provinces were there. The company was more fun than
the dance, especially to a fellow who has seen how good it can be and
how bad in its home."

"You have a chance to see the Spanish dancer again, under proper
auspices," said Edith, without looking up.

"How's that?"

"We are invited by Mrs. Brown--"

"The mother of the Bible class at St. Philip's?"

"Yes--to attend a charity performance for the b