fe.

At five o'clock his stylish trap was sent around from the boarding
stable, and we drove in the Park till twilight. Henderson handling the
reins, and making a part of that daily display which is too heterogeneous
to have distinction, reverted quite naturally to the tone of worldliness
and tolerant cynicism which had characterized his conversation in the
morning. If the Park and the moving assemblage had not the air of
distinction, it had that of expense, which is quite as attractive to
many. Here, as downtown, my companion seemed to know and be known by
everybody, returning the familiar salutes of brokers and club men,
receiving gracious bows from stout matrons, smiles and nods from pretty
women, and more formal recognition from stately and stiff elderly men,
who sat bolt-upright beside their wives and tried to look like
millionaires. For every passerby Henderson had a quick word of
characterization sufficiently amusing, and about many a story which
illuminated the social life of the day. It was wonderful how many of this
chance company had little "histories"--comic, tragic, pitiful,
interesting enough for the pages of a novel.

"There is a young lady"--Henderson touched his hat, and I caught a
glimpse of golden hair and a flash of dark eyes out of a mass of furs
--"who has no history: the world is all before her."

"Who is that?"

"The daughter of old Eschelle--Carmen Eschelle--the banker and
politician, you remember; had a diplomatic position abroad, and the girl
was educated in Europe. She is very clever. She and her mother have more
money than they ought to know what to do with."

"That was the celebrated Jay Hawker" ( a moment after), "in the modest
coupe--not much display about him."

"Is he recognized by respectable people?"

"Recognized?" Henderson laughed. "He's a power. There are plenty of
people who live by trying to guess what he is going to do. Hawker isn't
such a bad fellow. Other people have used the means he used to get rich
and haven't succeeded. They are not held up to point a moral. The trouble
is that Hawker succeeded. Of course, it's a game. He plays as fair as
anybody."

"Yes," Henderson resumed, walking his horses in sight of the obelisk,
which suggested the long continuance of the human race, "it is the same
old game, and it is very interesting to those who are in it. Outsiders
think it is all greed. In the Chamber it is a good deal the love of the
game, to watch each other, to find