THE RISE OF SILAS LAPHAM

by

William Dean Howells

JTABLE 5 27 1

I. 

WHEN Bartley Hubbard went to interview Silas Lapham for the "Solid Menof Boston" series, which he undertook to finish up in The Events, afterhe replaced their original projector on that newspaper, Lapham receivedhim in his private office by previous appointment. 

"Walk right in!" he called out to the journalist, whom he caught sightof through the door of the counting-room. 

He did not rise from the desk at which he was writing, but he gaveBartley his left hand for welcome, and he rolled his large head in thedirection of a vacant chair. "Sit down! I'll be with you in just halfa minute. "

"Take your time, " said Bartley, with the ease he instantly felt. "I'min no hurry. " He took a note-book from his pocket, laid it on his knee, and began to sharpen a pencil. 

"There!" Lapham pounded with his great hairy fist on the envelope hehad been addressing. 

"William!" he called out, and he handed the letter to a boy who came toget it. "I want that to go right away. Well, sir, " he continued, wheeling round in his leather-cushioned swivel-chair, and facingBartley, seated so near that their knees almost touched, "so you wantmy life, death, and Christian sufferings, do you, young man?"

"That's what I'm after, " said Bartley. "Your money or your life. "

"I guess you wouldn't want my life without the money, " said Lapham, asif he were willing to prolong these moments of preparation. 

"Take 'em both, " Bartley suggested. "Don't want your money withoutyour life, if you come to that. But you're just one million times moreinteresting to the public than if you hadn't a dollar; and you knowthat as well as I do, Mr. Lapham. There's no use beating about thebush. "

"No, " said Lapham, somewhat absently. He put out his huge foot andpushed the ground-glass door shut between his little den and thebook-keepers, in their larger den outside. 

"In personal appearance, " wrote Bartley in the sketch for which he nowstudied his subject, while he waited patiently for him to continue, "Silas Lapham is a fine type of the successful American. He has asquare, bold chin, only partially concealed by the short reddish-greybeard, growing to the edges of his firmly closing lips. His nose isshort and straight; his forehead good, but broad rather than high; hiseyes blue, and with a light in them that is kindly or sharp accordingto his mood. He is of medium height, and fills an average arm-chairwith a solid bulk, which on the day of our interview wasunpretentiously clad in a business suit of blue serge. His head droopssomewhat from a short neck, which does not trouble itself to rise farfrom a pair of massive shoulders. "

"I don't know as I know just where you want me to begin, " said Lapham. 

"Might begin with your birth; that's where most of us begin, " repliedBartley. 

A gleam of humorous appreciation shot into Lapham's blue eyes. 

"I didn't know whether you wanted me to go quite so far back as that, "he said. "But there's no disgrace in having been born, and I was bornin the State of Vermont, pretty well up under the Canada line--so wellup, in fact, that I came very near being an adoptive citizen; for I wasbound to be an American of SOME sort, from the word Go! That wasabout--well, let me see!--pretty near sixty years ago: this is '75, andthat was '20. Well, say I'm fifty-five years old; and I've LIVED 'em, too; not an hour of waste time about ME, anywheres! I was born on afarm, and----"

"Worked in the fields summers and went to school winters: regulationthing?" Bartley cut in. 

"Regulation thing, " said Lapham, accepting this irreverent version ofhis history somewhat dryly. 

"Parents poor, of course, " suggested the journalist. "Any barefootbusiness? Early deprivations of any kind, that would encourage theyouthful reader to go and do likewise? Orphan myself, you know, " saidBartley, with a smile of cynical good-comradery. 

Lapham looked at him silently, and then said with quiet self-respect, "I guess if you see these things as a joke, my life won't interest you. "

"Oh yes, it will, " returned Bartley, unabashed. "You'll see; it'llcome out all right. " And in fact it did so, in the interview whichBartley printed. 

"Mr. Lapham, " he wrote, "passed rapidly over the story of his earlylife, its poverty and its hardships, sweetened, however, by therecollections of a devoted mother, and a father who, if somewhat herinferior in education, was no less ambitious for the advancement of hischildren. They were quiet, unpretentious people, religious, after thefashion of that time, and of sterling morality, and they taught theirchildren the simple virtues of the Old Testament and Poor Richard'sAlmanac. "

Bartley could not deny himself this gibe; but he trusted to Lapham'sunliterary habit of mind for his security in making it, and most otherpeople would consider it sincere reporter's rhetoric. 

"You know, " he explained to Lapham, "that we have to look at all thesefacts as material, and we get the habit of classifying them. Sometimesa leading question will draw out a whole line of facts that a manhimself would never think of. " He went on to put several queries, andit was from Lapham's answers that he generalised the history of hischildhood. "Mr. Lapham, although he did not dwell on his boyish trialsand struggles, spoke of them with deep feeling and an abiding sense oftheir reality. " This was what he added in the interview, and by thetime he had got Lapham past the period where risen Americans are allpathetically alike in their narrow circumstances, their sufferings, andtheir aspirations, he had beguiled him into forgetfulness of the checkhe had received, and had him talking again in perfect enjoyment of hisautobiography. 

"Yes, sir, " said Lapham, in a strain which Bartley was careful not tointerrupt again, "a man never sees all that his mother has been to himtill it's too late to let her know that he sees it. Why, my mother--"he stopped. "It gives me a lump in the throat, " he saidapologetically, with an attempt at a laugh. Then he went on: "She wasa little frail thing, not bigger than a good-sized intermediateschool-girl; but she did the whole work of a family of boys, andboarded the hired men besides. She cooked, swept, washed, ironed, madeand mended from daylight till dark--and from dark till daylight, I wasgoing to say; for I don't know how she got any time for sleep. But Isuppose she did. She got time to go to church, and to teach us to readthe Bible, and to misunderstand it in the old way. She was GOOD. Butit ain't her on her knees in church that comes back to me so much likethe sight of an angel as her on her knees before me at night, washingmy poor, dirty little feet, that I'd run bare in all day, and making medecent for bed. There were six of us boys; it seems to me we were allof a size; and she was just so careful with all of us. I can feel herhands on my feet yet!" Bartley looked at Lapham's No. 10 boots, andsoftly whistled through his teeth. "We were patched all over; but wewa'n't ragged. I don't know how she got through it. She didn't seemto think it was anything; and I guess it was no more than my fatherexpected of her. HE worked like a horse in doors and out--up atdaylight, feeding the stock, and groaning round all day with hisrheumatism, but not stopping. "

Bartley hid a yawn over his note-book, and probably, if he could havespoken his mind, he would have suggested to Lapham that he was notthere for the purpose of interviewing his ancestry. But Bartley hadlearned to practise a patience with his victims which he did not alwaysfeel, and to feign an interest in their digressions till he could bringthem up with a round turn. 

"I tell you, " said Lapham, jabbing the point of his penknife into thewriting-pad on the desk before him, "when I hear women complainingnowadays that their lives are stunted and empty, I want to tell 'emabout my MOTHER'S life. I could paint it out for 'em. "

Bartley saw his opportunity at the word paint, and cut in. "And yousay, Mr. Lapham, that you discovered this mineral paint on the old farmyourself?"

Lapham acquiesced in the return to business. "I didn't discover it, "he said scrupulously. "My father found it one day, in a hole made by atree blowing down. There it was, lying loose in the pit, and stickingto the roots that had pulled up a big, cake of dirt with 'em. I don'tknow what give him the idea that there was money in it, but he didthink so from the start. I guess, if they'd had the word in thosedays, they'd considered him pretty much of a crank about it. He wastrying as long as he lived to get that paint introduced; but hecouldn't make it go. The country was so poor they couldn't paint theirhouses with anything; and father hadn't any facilities. It got to be akind of joke with us; and I guess that paint-mine did as much as anyone thing to make us boys clear out as soon as we got old enough. Allmy brothers went West, and took up land; but I hung on to New Englandand I hung on to the old farm, not because the paint-mine was on it, but because the old house was--and the graves. Well, " said Lapham, asif unwilling to give himself too much credit, "there wouldn't been anymarket for it, anyway. You can go through that part of the State andbuy more farms than you can shake a stick at for less money than itcost to build the barns on 'em. Of course, it's turned out a goodthing. I keep the old house up in good shape, and we spend a month orso there every summer. M' wife kind of likes it, and the girls. Pretty place; sightly all round it. I've got a force of men at workthere the whole time, and I've got a man and his wife in the house. Had a family meeting there last year; the whole connection from outWest. There!" Lapham rose from his seat and took down a large warped, unframed photograph from the top of his desk, passing his hand over it, and then blowing vigorously upon it, to clear it of the dust. "Therewe are, ALL of us. "

"I don't need to look twice at YOU, " said Bartley, putting his fingeron one of the heads. 

"Well, that's Bill, " said Lapham, with a gratified laugh. "He's aboutas brainy as any of us, I guess. He's one of their leading lawyers, out Dubuque way; been judge of the Common Pleas once or twice. That'shis son--just graduated at Yale--alongside of my youngest girl. Good-looking chap, ain't he?"

"SHE'S a good-looking chap, " said Bartley, with prompt irreverence. Hehastened to add, at the frown which gathered between Lapham's eyes, "What a beautiful creature she is! What a lovely, refined, sensitiveface! And she looks GOOD, too. "

"She is good, " said the father, relenting. 

"And, after all, that's about the best thing in a woman, " said thepotential reprobate. "If my wife wasn't good enough to keep both of usstraight, I don't know what would become of me. " "My other daughter, "said Lapham, indicating a girl with eyes that showed large, and a faceof singular gravity. "Mis' Lapham, " he continued, touching his wife'seffigy with his little finger. "My brother Willard and hisfamily--farm at Kankakee. Hazard Lapham and his wife--Baptist preacherin Kansas. Jim and his three girls--milling business at Minneapolis. Ben and his family--practising medicine in Fort Wayne. "

The figures were clustered in an irregular group in front of an oldfarm-house, whose original ugliness had been smartened up with a coatof Lapham's own paint, and heightened with an incongruous piazza. Thephotographer had not been able to conceal the fact that they were alldecent, honest-looking, sensible people, with a very fair share ofbeauty among the young girls; some of these were extremely pretty, infact. He had put them into awkward and constrained attitudes, ofcourse; and they all looked as if they had the instrument of torturewhich photographers call a head-rest under their occiputs. Here andthere an elderly lady's face was a mere blur; and some of the youngerchildren had twitched themselves into wavering shadows, and might havepassed for spirit-photographs of their own little ghosts. It was thestandard family-group photograph, in which most Americans have figuredat some time or other; and Lapham exhibited a just satisfaction in it. "I presume, " he mused aloud, as he put it back on top of his desk, "that we sha'n't soon get together again, all of us. "

"And you say, " suggested Bartley, "that you stayed right along on theold place, when the rest cleared out West?"

"No o-o-o, " said Lapham, with a long, loud drawl; "I cleared out Westtoo, first off. Went to Texas. Texas was all the cry in those days. But I got enough of the Lone Star in about three months, and I comeback with the idea that Vermont was good enough for me. "

"Fatted calf business?" queried Bartley, with his pencil poised abovehis note-book. 

"I presume they were glad to see me, " said Lapham, with dignity. "Mother, " he added gently, "died that winter, and I stayed on withfather. I buried him in the spring; and then I came down to a littleplace called Lumberville, and picked up what jobs I could get. Iworked round at the saw-mills, and I was ostler a while at the hotel--Ialways DID like a good horse. Well, I WA'N'T exactly a collegegraduate, and I went to school odd times. I got to driving the stageafter while, and by and by I BOUGHT the stage and run the businessmyself. Then I hired the tavern-stand, and--well to make a long storyshort, then I got married. Yes, " said Lapham, with pride, "I marriedthe school-teacher. We did pretty well with the hotel, and my wife shewas always at me to paint up. Well, I put it off, and PUT it off, as aman will, till one day I give in, and says I, 'Well, let's paint up. Why, Pert, '--m'wife's name's Persis, --'I've got a whole paint-mine outon the farm. Let's go out and look at it. ' So we drove out. I'd letthe place for seventy-five dollars a year to a shif'less kind of aKanuck that had come down that way; and I'd hated to see the house withhim in it; but we drove out one Saturday afternoon, and we brought backabout a bushel of the stuff in the buggy-seat, and I tried it crude, and I tried it burnt; and I liked it. M'wife she liked it too. Therewa'n't any painter by trade in the village, and I mixed it myself. Well, sir, that tavern's got that coat of paint on it yet, and ithain't ever had any other, and I don't know's it ever will. Well, youknow, I felt as if it was a kind of harumscarum experiment, all thewhile; and I presume I shouldn't have tried it but I kind of liked todo it because father'd always set so much store by his paint-mine. Andwhen I'd got the first coat on, "--Lapham called it CUT, --"I presume Imust have set as much as half an hour; looking at it and thinking howhe would have enjoyed it. I've had my share of luck in this world, andI ain't a-going to complain on my OWN account, but I've noticed thatmost things get along too late for most people. It made me feel bad, and it took all the pride out my success with the paint, thinking offather. Seemed to me I might 'a taken more interest in it when he wasby to see; but we've got to live and learn. Well, I called my wifeout, --I'd tried it on the back of the house, you know, --and she lefther dishes, --I can remember she came out with her sleeves rolled up andset down alongside of me on the trestle, --and says I, 'What do youthink, Persis?' And says she, 'Well, you hain't got a paint-mine, SilasLapham; you've got a GOLD-mine. ' She always was just so enthusiasticabout things. Well, it was just after two or three boats had burnt upout West, and a lot of lives lost, and there was a great cry aboutnon-inflammable paint, and I guess that was what was in her mind. 'Well, I guess it ain't any gold-mine, Persis, ' says I; 'but I guess itIS a paint-mine. I'm going to have it analysed, and if it turns outwhat I think it is, I'm going to work it. And if father hadn't hadsuch a long name, I should call it the Nehemiah Lapham Mineral Paint. But, any rate, every barrel of it, and every keg, and every bottle, andevery package, big or little, has got to have the initials and figuresN. L. F. 1835, S. L. T. 1855, on it. Father found it in 1835, and I triedit in 1855. '"

"'S. T. --1860--X. ' business, " said Bartley. 

"Yes, " said Lapham, "but I hadn't heard of Plantation Bitters then, andI hadn't seen any of the fellow's labels. I set to work and I got aman down from Boston; and I carried him out to the farm, and heanalysed it--made a regular Job of it. Well, sir, we built a kiln, andwe kept a lot of that paint-ore red-hot for forty-eight hours; kept theKanuck and his family up, firing. The presence of iron in the oreshowed with the magnet from the start; and when he came to test it, hefound out that it contained about seventy-five per cent. Of theperoxide of iron. "

Lapham pronounced the scientific phrases with a sort of reverentsatisfaction, as if awed through his pride by a little lingeringuncertainty as to what peroxide was. He accented it as if it werepurr-ox-EYED; and Bartley had to get him to spell it. 

"Well, and what then?" he asked, when he had made a note of thepercentage. 

"What then?" echoed Lapham. "Well, then, the fellow set down and toldme, 'You've got a paint here, ' says he, 'that's going to drive everyother mineral paint out of the market. Why' says he, 'it'll drive 'emright into the Back Bay!' Of course, I didn't know what the Back Baywas then, but I begun to open my eyes; thought I'd had 'em open before, but I guess I hadn't. Says he, 'That paint has got hydraulic cement init, and it can stand fire and water and acids;' he named over a lot ofthings. Says he, 'It'll mix easily with linseed oil, whether you wantto use it boiled or raw; and it ain't a-going to crack nor fade any;and it ain't a-going to scale. When you've got your arrangements forburning it properly, you're going to have a paint that will stand likethe everlasting hills, in every climate under the sun. ' Then he wentinto a lot of particulars, and I begun to think he was drawing along-bow, and meant to make his bill accordingly. So I kept prettycool; but the fellow's bill didn't amount to anything hardly--said Imight pay him after I got going; young chap, and pretty easy; but everyword he said was gospel. Well, I ain't a-going to brag up my paint; Idon't suppose you came here to hear me blow. "

"Oh yes, I did, " said Bartley. "That's what I want. Tell all there isto tell, and I can boil it down afterward. A man can't make a greatermistake with a reporter than to hold back anything out of modesty. Itmay be the very thing we want to know. What we want is the wholetruth; and more; we've got so much modesty of our own that we cantemper almost any statement. "

Lapham looked as if he did not quite like this tone, and he resumed alittle more quietly. "Oh, there isn't really very much more to sayabout the paint itself. But you can use it for almost anything where apaint is wanted, inside or out. It'll prevent decay, and it'll stopit, after it's begun, in tin or iron. You can paint the inside of acistern or a bath-tub with it, and water won't hurt it; and you canpaint a steam-boiler with it, and heat won't. You can cover a brickwall with it, or a railroad car, or the deck of a steamboat, and youcan't do a better thing for either. "

"Never tried it on the human conscience, I suppose, " suggested Bartley. 

"No, sir, " replied Lapham gravely. "I guess you want to keep that asfree from paint as you can, if you want much use of it. I never caredto try any of it on mine. " Lapham suddenly lifted his bulk up out ofhis swivel-chair, and led the way out into the wareroom beyond theoffice partitions, where rows and ranks of casks, barrels, and kegsstretched dimly back to the rear of the building, and diffused anhonest, clean, wholesome smell of oil and paint. They were labelledand branded as containing each so many pounds of Lapham's MineralPaint, and each bore the mystic devices, N. L. F. 1835--S. L. T. 1855. "There!" said Lapham, kicking one of the largest casks with the toe ofhis boot, "that's about our biggest package; and here, " he added, laying his hand affectionately on the head of a very small keg, as ifit were the head of a child, which it resembled in size, "this is thesmallest. We used to put the paint on the market dry, but now we grindevery ounce of it in oil--very best quality of linseed oil--and warrantit. We find it gives more satisfaction. Now, come back to the office, and I'll show you our fancy brands. "

It was very cool and pleasant in that dim wareroom, with the raftersshowing overhead in a cloudy perspective, and darkening away into theperpetual twilight at the rear of the building; and Bartley had foundan agreeable seat on the head of a half-barrel of the paint, which hewas reluctant to leave. But he rose and followed the vigorous lead ofLapham back to the office, where the sun of a long summer afternoon wasjust beginning to glare in at the window. On shelves opposite Lapham'sdesk were tin cans of various sizes, arranged in tapering cylinders, and showing, in a pattern diminishing toward the top, the same labelborne by the casks and barrels in the wareroom. Lapham merely wavedhis hand toward these; but when Bartley, after a comprehensive glanceat them, gave his whole attention to a row of clean, smooth jars, wheredifferent tints of the paint showed through flawless glass, Laphamsmiled, and waited in pleased expectation. 

"Hello!" said Bartley. "That's pretty!"

"Yes, " assented Lapham, "it is rather nice. It's our latest thing, andwe find it takes with customers first-rate. Look here!" he said, takingdown one of the jars, and pointing to the first line of the label. 

Bartley read, "THE PERSIS BRAND, " and then he looked at Lapham andsmiled. 

"After HER, of course, " said Lapham. "Got it up and put the first ofit on the market her last birthday. She was pleased. "

"I should think she might have been, " said Bartley, while he made anote of the appearance of the jars. 

"I don't know about your mentioning it in your interview, " said Laphamdubiously. 

"That's going into the interview, Mr. Lapham, if nothing else does. Got a wife myself, and I know just how you feel. " It was in the dawn ofBartley's prosperity on the Boston Events, before his troubles withMarcia had seriously begun. 

"Is that so?" said Lapham, recognising with a smile another of the vastmajority of married Americans; a few underrate their wives, but therest think them supernal in intelligence and capability. "Well, " headded, "we must see about that. Where'd you say you lived?"

"We don't live; we board. Mrs. Nash, 13 Canary Place. "

"Well, we've all got to commence that way, " suggested Laphamconsolingly. 

"Yes; but we've about got to the end of our string. I expect to beunder a roof of my own on Clover Street before long. I suppose, " saidBartley, returning to business, "that you didn't let the grass growunder your feet much after you found out what was in your paint-mine?"

"No, sir, " answered Lapham, withdrawing his eyes from a long stare atBartley, in which he had been seeing himself a young man again, in thefirst days of his married life. "I went right back to Lumberville andsold out everything, and put all I could rake and scrape together intopaint. And Mis' Lapham was with me every time. No hang back aboutHER. I tell you she was a WOMAN!"

Bartley laughed. "That's the sort most of us marry. "

"No, we don't, " said Lapham. "Most of us marry silly little girlsgrown up to LOOK like women. "

"Well, I guess that's about so, " assented Bartley, as if upon secondthought. 

"If it hadn't been for her, " resumed Lapham, "the paint wouldn't havecome to anything. I used to tell her it wa'n't the seventy-five percent. Of purr-ox-eyed of iron in the ORE that made that paint go; itwas the seventy-five per cent. Of purr-ox-eyed of iron in HER. "

"Good!" cried Bartley. "I'll tell Marcia that. "

"In less'n six months there wa'n't a board-fence, nor a bridge-girder, nor a dead wall, nor a barn, nor a face of rock in that whole regionthat didn't have 'Lapham's Mineral Paint--Specimen' on it in the threecolours we begun by making. " Bartley had taken his seat on thewindow-sill, and Lapham, standing before him, now put up his huge footclose to Bartley's thigh; neither of them minded that. 

"I've heard a good deal of talk about that S. T. --1860--X. Man, and thestove-blacking man, and the kidney-cure man, because they advertised inthat way; and I've read articles about it in the papers; but I don'tsee where the joke comes in, exactly. So long as the people that ownthe barns and fences don't object, I don't see what the public has gotto do with it. And I never saw anything so very sacred about a bigrock, along a river or in a pasture, that it wouldn't do to put mineralpaint on it in three colours. I wish some of the people that talkabout the landscape, and WRITE about it, had to bu'st one of them rocksOUT of the landscape with powder, or dig a hole to bury it in, as weused to have to do up on the farm; I guess they'd sing a littledifferent tune about the profanation of scenery. There ain't any manenjoys a sightly bit of nature--a smooth piece of interval with half adozen good-sized wine-glass elms in it--more than I do. But I ain'ta-going to stand up for every big ugly rock I come across, as if wewere all a set of dumn Druids. I say the landscape was made for man, and not man for the landscape. "

"Yes, " said Bartley carelessly; "it was made for the stove-polish manand the kidney-cure man. "

"It was made for any man that knows how to use it, " Lapham returned, insensible to Bartley's irony. "Let 'em go and live with nature in theWINTER, up there along the Canada line, and I guess they'll get enoughof her for one while. Well--where was I?"

"Decorating the landscape, " said Bartley. 

"Yes, sir; I started right there at Lumberville, and it give the placea start too. You won't find it on the map now; and you won't find itin the gazetteer. I give a pretty good lump of money to build atown-hall, about five years back, and the first meeting they held in itthey voted to change the name, --Lumberville WA'N'T a name, --and it'sLapham now. "

"Isn't it somewhere up in that region that they get the old Brandonred?" asked Bartley. 

"We're about ninety miles from Brandon. The Brandon's a good paint, "said Lapham conscientiously. "Like to show you round up at our placesome odd time, if you get off. "

"Thanks. I should like it first-rate. WORKS there?"

"Yes; works there. Well, sir, just about the time I got started, thewar broke out; and it knocked my paint higher than a kite. The thingdropped perfectly dead. I presume that if I'd had any sort ofinfluence, I might have got it into Government hands, for gun-carriagesand army wagons, and may be on board Government vessels. But I hadn't, and we had to face the music. I was about broken-hearted, but m'wifeshe looked at it another way. 'I guess it's a providence, ' says she. 'Silas, I guess you've got a country that's worth fighting for. Anyrate, you better go out and give it a chance. ' Well, sir, I went. Iknew she meant business. It might kill her to have me go, but it wouldkill her sure if I stayed. She was one of that kind. I went. Herlast words was, 'I'll look after the paint, Si. ' We hadn't but just onelittle girl then, --boy'd died, --and Mis' Lapham's mother was livin'with us; and I knew if times DID anyways come up again, m'wife'd knowjust what to do. So I went. I got through; and you can call meColonel, if you want to. Feel there!" Lapham took Bartley's thumb andforefinger and put them on a bunch in his leg, just above the knee. "Anything hard?"

"Ball?"

Lapham nodded. "Gettysburg. That's my thermometer. If it wa'n't forthat, I shouldn't know enough to come in when it rains. "

Bartley laughed at a joke which betrayed some evidences of wear. "Andwhen you came back, you took hold of the paint and rushed it. "

"I took hold of the paint and rushed it--all I could, " said Lapham, with less satisfaction than he had hitherto shown in his autobiography. "But I found that I had got back to another world. The day of smallthings was past, and I don't suppose it will ever come again in thiscountry. My wife was at me all the time to take a partner--somebodywith capital; but I couldn't seem to bear the idea. That paint waslike my own blood to me. To have anybody else concerned in it waslike--well, I don't know what. I saw it was the thing to do; but Itried to fight it off, and I tried to joke it off. I used to say, 'Whydidn't you take a partner yourself, Persis, while I was away?' Andshe'd say, 'Well, if you hadn't come back, I should, Si. ' Always DIDlike a joke about as well as any woman I ever saw. Well, I had to cometo it. I took a partner. " Lapham dropped the bold blue eyes with whichhe had been till now staring into Bartley's face, and the reporter knewthat here was a place for asterisks in his interview, if interviewswere faithful. "He had money enough, " continued Lapham, with asuppressed sigh; "but he didn't know anything about paint. We hung ontogether for a year or two. And then we quit. "

"And he had the experience, " suggested Bartley, with companionable ease. 

"I had some of the experience too, " said Lapham, with a scowl; andBartley divined, through the freemasonry of all who have sore places intheir memories, that this was a point which he must not touch again. 

"And since that, I suppose, you've played it alone. "

"I've played it alone. "

"You must ship some of this paint of yours to foreign countries, Colonel?" suggested Bartley, putting on a professional air. 

"We ship it to all parts of the world. It goes to South America, lotsof it. It goes to Australia, and it goes to India, and it goes toChina, and it goes to the Cape of Good Hope. It'll stand any climate. Of course, we don't export these fancy brands much. They're for homeuse. But we're introducing them elsewhere. Here. " Lapham pulled opena drawer, and showed Bartley a lot of labels in differentlanguages--Spanish, French, German, and Italian. "We expect to do agood business in all those countries. We've got our agencies in Cadiznow, and in Paris, and in Hamburg, and in Leghorn. It's a thing that'sbound to make its way. Yes, sir. Wherever a man has got a ship, or abridge, or a lock, or a house, or a car, or a fence, or a pig-penanywhere in God's universe to paint, that's the paint for him, and he'sbound to find it out sooner or later. You pass a ton of that paint drythrough a blast-furnace, and you'll get a quarter of a ton of pig-iron. I believe in my paint. I believe it's a blessing to the world. Whenfolks come in, and kind of smell round, and ask me what I mix it with, I always say, 'Well, in the first place, I mix it with FAITH, and afterthat I grind it up with the best quality of boiled linseed oil thatmoney will buy. '"

Lapham took out his watch and looked at it, and Bartley perceived thathis audience was drawing to a close. "'F you ever want to run down andtake a look at our works, pass you over the road, "--he called itRUD--"and it sha'n't cost you a cent. " "Well, may be I shall, sometime, " said Bartley. "Good afternoon, Colonel. "

"Good afternoon. Or--hold on! My horse down there yet, William?" hecalled to the young man in the counting-room who had taken his letterat the beginning of the interview. "Oh! All right!" he added, inresponse to something the young man said. 

"Can't I set you down somewhere, Mr. Hubbard? I've got my horse at thedoor, and I can drop you on my way home. I'm going to take Mis' Laphamto look at a house I'm driving piles for, down on the New Land. "

"Don't care if I do, " said Bartley. 

Lapham put on a straw hat, gathered up some papers lying on his desk, pulled down its rolling cover, turned the key in it, and gave thepapers to an extremely handsome young woman at one of the desks in theouter office. She was stylishly dressed, as Bartley saw, and hersmooth, yellow hair was sculpturesquely waved over a low, whiteforehead. "Here, " said Lapham, with the same prompt gruff kindnessthat he had used in addressing the young man, "I want you should putthese in shape, and give me a type-writer copy to-morrow. "

"What an uncommonly pretty girl!" said Bartley, as they descended therough stairway and found their way out to the street, past the danglingrope of a block and tackle wandering up into the cavernous darknessoverhead. 

"She does her work, " said Lapham shortly. 

Bartley mounted to the left side of the open buggy standing at thecurb-stone, and Lapham, gathering up the hitching-weight, slid it underthe buggy-seat and mounted beside him. 

"No chance to speed a horse here, of course, " said Lapham, while thehorse with a spirited gentleness picked her way, with a high, longaction, over the pavement of the street. The streets were all narrow, and most of them crooked, in that quarter of the town; but at the endof one the spars of a vessel pencilled themselves delicately againstthe cool blue of the afternoon sky. The air was full of a smellpleasantly compounded of oakum, of leather, and of oil. It was not thebusy season, and they met only two or three trucks heavily stragglingtoward the wharf with their long string teams; but the cobble-stones ofthe pavement were worn with the dint of ponderous wheels, anddiscoloured with iron-rust from them; here and there, in wanderingstreaks over its surface, was the grey stain of the salt water withwhich the street had been sprinkled. 

After an interval of some minutes, which both men spent in lookinground the dash-board from opposite sides to watch the stride of thehorse, Bartley said, with a light sigh, "I had a colt once down inMaine that stepped just like that mare. "

"Well!" said Lapham, sympathetically recognising the bond that thisfact created between them. "Well, now, I tell you what you do. Youlet me come for you 'most any afternoon, now, and take you out over theMilldam, and speed this mare a little. I'd like to show you what thismare can do. Yes, I would. "

"All right, " answered Bartley; "I'll let you know my first day off. "

"Good, " cried Lapham. 

"Kentucky?" queried Bartley. 

"No, sir. I don't ride behind anything but Vermont; never did. Touchof Morgan, of course; but you can't have much Morgan in a horse if youwant speed. Hambletonian mostly. Where'd you say you wanted to getout?"

"I guess you may put me down at the Events Office, just round thecorner here. I've got to write up this interview while it's fresh. "

"All right, " said Lapham, impersonally assenting to Bartley's use ofhim as material. 

He had not much to complain of in Bartley's treatment, unless it wasthe strain of extravagant compliment which it involved. But theflattery was mainly for the paint, whose virtues Lapham did not believecould be overstated, and himself and his history had been treated withas much respect as Bartley was capable of showing any one. He made avery picturesque thing of the discovery of the paint-mine. "Deep in theheart of the virgin forests of Vermont, far up toward the line of theCanadian snows, on a desolate mountain-side, where an autumnal stormhad done its wild work, and the great trees, strewn hither and thither, bore witness to its violence, Nehemiah Lapham discovered, just fortyyears ago, the mineral which the alchemy of his son's enterprise andenergy has transmuted into solid ingots of the most precious of metals. The colossal fortune of Colonel Silas Lapham lay at the bottom of ahole which an uprooted tree had dug for him, and which for many yearsremained a paint-mine of no more appreciable value than a soap-mine. "

Here Bartley had not been able to forego another grin; but hecompensated for it by the high reverence with which he spoke of ColonelLapham's record during the war of the rebellion, and of the motiveswhich impelled him to turn aside from an enterprise in which his wholeheart was engaged, and take part in the struggle. "The Colonel bearsembedded in the muscle of his right leg a little memento of the periodin the shape of a minie-ball, which he jocularly referred to as histhermometer, and which relieves him from the necessity of reading 'TheProbabilities' in his morning paper. This saves him just so much time;and for a man who, as he said, has not a moment of waste time on himanywhere, five minutes a day are something in the course of a year. Simple, clear, bold, and straightforward in mind and action, ColonelSilas Lapham, with a prompt comprehensiveness and a never-failingbusiness sagacity, is, in the best sense of that much-abused term, oneof nature's noblemen, to the last inch of his five eleven and a half. His life affords an example of single-minded application and unwaveringperseverance which our young business men would do well to emulate. There is nothing showy or meretricious about the man. He believes inmineral paint, and he puts his heart and soul into it. He makes it areligion; though we would not imply that it IS his religion. ColonelLapham is a regular attendant at the Rev. Dr. Langworthy's church. Hesubscribes liberally to the Associated Charities, and no good object orworthy public enterprise fails to receive his support. He is not nowactively in politics, and his paint is not partisan; but it is an opensecret that he is, and always has been, a staunch Republican. Withoutviolating the sanctities of private life, we cannot speak fully ofvarious details which came out in the free and unembarrassed interviewwhich Colonel Lapham accorded our representative. But we may say thatthe success of which he is justly proud he is also proud to attributein great measure to the sympathy and energy of his wife--one of thosewomen who, in whatever walk of life, seem born to honour the name ofAmerican Woman, and to redeem it from the national reproach of DaisyMillerism. Of Colonel Lapham's family, we will simply add that itconsists of two young lady daughters. 

"The subject of this very inadequate sketch is building a house on thewater side of Beacon Street, after designs by one of our leadingarchitectural firms, which, when complete, will be one of the finestornaments of that exclusive avenue. It will, we believe, be ready forthe occupancy of the family sometime in the spring. "

When Bartley had finished his article, which he did with a good deal ofinward derision, he went home to Marcia, still smiling over the thoughtof Lapham, whose burly simplicity had peculiarly amused him. "Heregularly turned himself inside out to me, " he said, as he satdescribing his interview to Marcia. 

"Then I know you could make something nice out of it, " said his wife;"and that will please Mr. Witherby. "

"Oh yes, I've done pretty well; but I couldn't let myself loose on himthe way I wanted to. Confound the limitations of decency, anyway! Ishould like to have told just what Colonel Lapham thought of landscapeadvertising in Colonel Lapham's own words. I'll tell you one thing, Marsh: he had a girl there at one of the desks that you wouldn't let MEhave within gunshot of MY office. Pretty? It ain't any name for it!"Marcia's eyes began to blaze, and Bartley broke out into a laugh, inwhich he arrested himself at sight of a formidable parcel in the cornerof the room. 

"Hello! What's that?"

"Why, I don't know what it is, " replied Marcia tremulously. "A manbrought it just before you came in, and I didn't like to open it. "

"Think it was some kind of infernal machine?" asked Bartley, gettingdown on his knees to examine the package. "MRS. B. Hubbard, heigh?" Hecut the heavy hemp string with his penknife. "We must look into thisthing. I should like to know who's sending packages to Mrs. Hubbard inmy absence. " He unfolded the wrappings of paper, growing softer andfiner inward, and presently pulled out a handsome square glass jar, through which a crimson mass showed richly. "The Persis Brand!" heyelled. "I knew it!"

"Oh, what is it, Bartley?" quavered Marcia. Then, courageously drawinga little nearer: "Is it some kind of jam?" she implored. "Jam? No!"roared Bartley. "It's PAINT! It's mineral paint--Lapham's paint!"

"Paint?" echoed Marcia, as she stood over him while he stripped theirwrappings from the jars which showed the dark blue, dark green, lightbrown, dark brown, and black, with the dark crimson, forming the gamutof colour of the Lapham paint. "Don't TELL me it's paint that I canuse, Bartley!"

"Well, I shouldn't advise you to use much of it--all at once, " repliedher husband. "But it's paint that you can use in moderation. "

Marcia cast her arms round his neck and kissed him. "O Bartley, Ithink I'm the happiest girl in the world! I was just wondering what Ishould do. There are places in that Clover Street house that needtouching up so dreadfully. I shall be very careful. You needn't beafraid I shall overdo. But, this just saves my life. Did you BUY it, Bartley? You know we couldn't afford it, and you oughtn't to have doneit! And what does the Persis Brand mean?"

"Buy it?" cried Bartley. "No! The old fool's sent it to you as apresent. You'd better wait for the facts before you pitch into me forextravagance, Marcia. Persis is the name of his wife; and he named itafter her because it's his finest brand. You'll see it in myinterview. Put it on the market her last birthday for a surprise toher. "

"What old fool?" faltered Marcia. 

"Why, Lapham--the mineral paint man. "

"Oh, what a good man!" sighed Marcia from the bottom of her soul. "Bartley! you WON'T make fun of him as you do of some of those people?WILL you?"

"Nothing that HE'LL ever find out, " said Bartley, getting up andbrushing off the carpet-lint from his knees. 

II. 

AFTER dropping Bartley Hubbard at the Events building, Lapham drove ondown Washington Street to Nankeen Square at the South End, where he hadlived ever since the mistaken movement of society in that directionceased. He had not built, but had bought very cheap of a terrifiedgentleman of good extraction who discovered too late that the South Endwas not the thing, and who in the eagerness of his flight to the BackBay threw in his carpets and shades for almost nothing. Mrs. Laphamwas even better satisfied with their bargain than the Colonel himself, and they had lived in Nankeen Square for twelve years. They had seenthe saplings planted in the pretty oval round which the houses werebuilt flourish up into sturdy young trees, and their two little girlsin the same period had grown into young ladies; the Colonel's toughframe had expanded into the bulk which Bartley's interview indicated;and Mrs. Lapham, while keeping a more youthful outline, showed thesharp print of the crow's-foot at the corners of her motherly eyes, andcertain slight creases in her wholesome cheeks. The fact that theylived in an unfashionable neighbourhood was something that they hadnever been made to feel to their personal disadvantage, and they hadhardly known it till the summer before this story opens, when Mrs. Lapham and her daughter Irene had met some other Bostonians far fromBoston, who made it memorable. They were people whom chance hadbrought for the time under a singular obligation to the Lapham ladies, and they were gratefully recognisant of it. They had ventured--amother and two daughters--as far as a rather wild little Canadianwatering-place on the St. Lawrence, below Quebec, and had arrived somedays before their son and brother was expected to join them. Two oftheir trunks had gone astray, and on the night of their arrival themother was taken violently ill. Mrs. Lapham came to their help, withher skill as nurse, and with the abundance of her own and herdaughter's wardrobe, and a profuse, single-hearted kindness. When adoctor could be got at, he said that but for Mrs. Lapham's timely care, the lady would hardly have lived. He was a very effusive littleFrenchman, and fancied he was saying something very pleasant toeverybody. 

A certain intimacy inevitably followed, and when the son came he waseven more grateful than the others. Mrs. Lapham could not quiteunderstand why he should be as attentive to her as to Irene; but shecompared him with other young men about the place, and thought himnicer than any of them. She had not the means of a wider comparison;for in Boston, with all her husband's prosperity, they had not had asocial life. Their first years there were given to careful getting onLapham's part, and careful saving on his wife's. Suddenly the moneybegan to come so abundantly that she need not save; and then they didnot know what to do with it. A certain amount could be spent onhorses, and Lapham spent it; his wife spent on rich and rather uglyclothes and a luxury of household appointments. Lapham had not yetreached the picture-buying stage of the rich man's development, butthey decorated their house with the costliest and most abominablefrescoes; they went upon journeys, and lavished upon cars and hotels;they gave with both hands to their church and to all the charities itbrought them acquainted with; but they did not know how to spend onsociety. Up to a certain period Mrs. Lapham had the ladies of herneighbourhood in to tea, as her mother had done in the country in heryounger days. Lapham's idea of hospitality was still to bring aheavy-buying customer home to pot-luck; neither of them imagineddinners. 

Their two girls had gone to the public schools, where they had not goton as fast as some of the other girls; so that they were a year behindin graduating from the grammar-school, where Lapham thought that theyhad got education enough. His wife was of a different mind; she wouldhave liked them to go to some private school for their finishing. ButIrene did not care for study; she preferred house-keeping, and both thesisters were afraid of being snubbed by the other girls, who were of adifferent sort from the girls of the grammar-school; these were mostlyfrom the parks and squares, like themselves. It ended in their goingpart of a year. But the elder had an odd taste of her own for reading, and she took some private lessons, and read books out of thecirculating library; the whole family were amazed at the number sheread, and rather proud of it. 

They were not girls who embroidered or abandoned themselves toneedle-work. Irene spent her abundant leisure in shopping for herselfand her mother, of whom both daughters made a kind of idol, buying hercaps and laces out of their pin-money, and getting her dresses farbeyond her capacity to wear. Irene dressed herself very stylishly, andspent hours on her toilet every day. Her sister had a simpler taste, and, if she had done altogether as she liked, might even have slighteddress. They all three took long naps every day, and sat hours togetherminutely discussing what they saw out of the window. In herself-guided search for self-improvement, the elder sister went to manychurch lectures on a vast variety of secular subjects, and usually camehome with a comic account of them, and that made more matter of talkfor the whole family. She could make fun of nearly everything; Irenecomplained that she scared away the young men whom they got acquaintedwith at the dancing-school sociables. They were, perhaps, not thewisest young men. 

The girls had learned to dance at Papanti's; but they had not belongedto the private classes. They did not even know of them, and a greatgulf divided them from those who did. Their father did not likecompany, except such as came informally in their way; and their motherhad remained too rustic to know how to attract it in the sophisticatedcity fashion. None of them had grasped the idea of European travel;but they had gone about to mountain and sea-side resorts, the motherand the two girls, where they witnessed the spectacle which suchresorts present throughout New England, of multitudes of girls, lovely, accomplished, exquisitely dressed, humbly glad of the presence of anysort of young man; but the Laphams had no skill or courage to makethemselves noticed, far less courted by the solitary invalid, orclergyman, or artist. They lurked helplessly about in the hotelparlours, looking on and not knowing how to put themselves forward. Perhaps they did not care a great deal to do so. They had not aconceit of themselves, but a sort of content in their own ways that onemay notice in certain families. The very strength of their mutualaffection was a barrier to worldly knowledge; they dressed for oneanother; they equipped their house for their own satisfaction; theylived richly to themselves, not because they were selfish, but becausethey did not know how to do otherwise. The elder daughter did not carefor society, apparently. The younger, who was but three years younger, was not yet quite old enough to be ambitious of it. With all herwonderful beauty, she had an innocence almost vegetable. When herbeauty, which in its immaturity was crude and harsh, suddenly ripened, she bloomed and glowed with the unconsciousness of a flower; she notmerely did not feel herself admired, but hardly knew herselfdiscovered. If she dressed well, perhaps too well, it was because shehad the instinct of dress; but till she met this young man who was sonice to her at Baie St. Paul, she had scarcely lived a detached, individual life, so wholly had she depended on her mother and hersister for her opinions, almost her sensations. She took account ofeverything he did and said, pondering it, and trying to make outexactly what he meant, to the inflection of a syllable, the slightestmovement or gesture. In this way she began for the first time to formideas which she had not derived from her family, and they were none theless her own because they were often mistaken. 

Some of the things that he partly said, partly looked, she reported toher mother, and they talked them over, as they did everything relatingto these new acquaintances, and wrought them into the novel point ofview which they were acquiring. When Mrs. Lapham returned home, shesubmitted all the accumulated facts of the case, and all her ownconjectures, to her husband, and canvassed them anew. 

At first he was disposed to regard the whole affair as of smallimportance, and she had to insist a little beyond her own convictionsin order to counteract his indifference. 

"Well, I can tell you, " she said, "that if you think they were not thenicest people you ever saw, you're mightily mistaken. They had aboutthe best manners; and they had been everywhere, and knew everything. Ideclare it made me feel as if we had always lived in the backwoods. Idon't know but the mother and the daughters would have let you feel soa little, if they'd showed out all they thought; but they never did;and the son--well, I can't express it, Silas! But that young man hadabout perfect ways. "

"Seem struck up on Irene?" asked the Colonel. 

"How can I tell? He seemed just about as much struck up on me. Anyway, he paid me as much attention as he did her. Perhaps it's more the way, now, to notice the mother than it used to be. "

Lapham ventured no conjecture, but asked, as he had asked already, whothe people were. 

Mrs. Lapham repeated their name. Lapham nodded his head. "Do you knowthem? What business is he in?"

"I guess he ain't in anything, " said Lapham. 

"They were very nice, " said Mrs. Lapham impartially. 

"Well, they'd ought to be, " returned the Colonel. "Never done anythingelse. "

"They didn't seem stuck up, " urged his wife. 

"They'd no need to--with you. I could buy him and sell him, twiceover. "

This answer satisfied Mrs. Lapham rather with the fact than with herhusband. "Well, I guess I wouldn't brag, Silas, " she said. 

In the winter the ladies of this family, who returned to town verylate, came to call on Mrs. Lapham. They were again very polite. Butthe mother let drop, in apology for their calling almost at nightfall, that the coachman had not known the way exactly. 

"Nearly all our friends are on the New Land or on the Hill. "

There was a barb in this that rankled after the ladies had gone; and oncomparing notes with her daughter, Mrs. Lapham found that a barb hadbeen left to rankle in her mind also. 

"They said they had never been in this part of the town before. "

Upon a strict search of her memory, Irene could not report that thefact had been stated with anything like insinuation, but it was thatwhich gave it a more penetrating effect. 

"Oh, well, of course, " said Lapham, to whom these facts were referred. "Those sort of people haven't got much business up our way, and theydon't come. It's a fair thing all round. We don't trouble the Hill orthe New Land much. "

"We know where they are, " suggested his wife thoughtfully. 

"Yes, " assented the Colonel. "I know where they are. I've got a lotof land over on the Back Bay. "

"You have?" eagerly demanded his wife. 

"Want me to build on it?" he asked in reply, with a quizzical smile. 

"I guess we can get along here for a while. "

This was at night. In the morning Mrs. Lapham said--

"I suppose we ought to do the best we can for the children, in everyway. "

"I supposed we always had, " replied her husband. 

"Yes, we have, according to our light. "

"Have you got some new light?"

"I don't know as it's light. But if the girls are going to keep onliving in Boston and marry here, I presume we ought to try to get theminto society, some way; or ought to do something. "

"Well, who's ever done more for their children than we have?" demandedLapham, with a pang at the thought that he could possibly have beenout-done. "Don't they have everything they want? Don't they dress justas you say? Don't you go everywhere with 'em? Is there ever anythinggoing on that's worth while that they don't see it or hear it? I don'tknow what you mean. Why don't you get them into society? There's moneyenough!"

"There's got to be something besides money, I guess, " said Mrs. Lapham, with a hopeless sigh. "I presume we didn't go to work just the rightway about their schooling. We ought to have got them into some schoolwhere they'd have got acquainted with city girls--girls who could helpthem along. "

"Nearly everybody at Miss Smillie's was from some where else. "

"Well, it's pretty late to think about that now, " grumbled Lapham. 

"And we've always gone our own way, and not looked out for the future. We ought to have gone out more, and had people come to the house. Nobody comes. "

"Well, is that my fault? I guess nobody ever makes people welcomer. "

"We ought to have invited company more. "

"Why don't you do it now? If it's for the girls, I don't care if youhave the house full all the while. "

Mrs. Lapham was forced to a confession full of humiliation. "I don'tknow who to ask. "

"Well, you can't expect me to tell you. "

"No; we're both country people, and we've kept our country ways, and wedon't, either of us, know what to do. You've had to work so hard, andyour luck was so long coming, and then it came with such a rush, thatwe haven't had any chance to learn what to do with it. It's just thesame with Irene's looks; I didn't expect she was ever going to haveany, she WAS such a plain child, and, all at once, she's blazed outthis way. As long as it was Pen that didn't seem to care for society, I didn't give much mind to it. But I can see it's going to bedifferent with Irene. I don't believe but what we're in the wrongneighbourhood. "

"Well, " said the Colonel, "there ain't a prettier lot on the Back Baythan mine. It's on the water side of Beacon, and it's twenty-eightfeet wide and a hundred and fifty deep. Let's build on it. "

Mrs. Lapham was silent a while. "No, " she said finally; "we've alwaysgot along well enough here, and I guess we better stay. "

At breakfast she said casually: "Girls, how would you like to have yourfather build on the New Land?"

The girls said they did not know. It was more convenient to thehorse-cars where they were. 

Mrs. Lapham stole a look of relief at her husband, and nothing more wassaid of the matter. 

The mother of the family who had called upon Mrs. Lapham brought herhusband's cards, and when Mrs. Lapham returned the visit she was insome trouble about the proper form of acknowledging the civility. TheColonel had no card but a business card, which advertised the principaldepot and the several agencies of the mineral paint; and Mrs. Laphamdoubted, till she wished to goodness that she had never seen nor heardof those people, whether to ignore her husband in the transactionaltogether, or to write his name on her own card. She decided finallyupon this measure, and she had the relief of not finding the family athome. As far as she could judge, Irene seemed to suffer a littledisappointment from the fact. 

For several months there was no communication between the families. Then there came to Nankeen Square a lithographed circular from thepeople on the Hill, signed in ink by the mother, and affording Mrs. Lapham an opportunity to subscribe for a charity of undeniable meritand acceptability. She submitted it to her husband, who promptly drewa cheque for five hundred dollars. 

She tore it in two. "I will take a cheque for a hundred, Silas, " shesaid. 

"Why?" he asked, looking up guiltily at her. 

"Because a hundred is enough; and I don't want to show off before them. "

"Oh, I thought may be you did. Well, Pert, " he added, having satisfiedhuman nature by the preliminary thrust, "I guess you're about right. When do you want I should begin to build on Beacon Street?" He handedher the new cheque, where she stood over him, and then leaned back inhis chair and looked up at her. 

"I don't want you should begin at all. What do you mean, Silas?" Sherested against the side of his desk. 

"Well, I don't know as I mean anything. But shouldn't you like tobuild? Everybody builds, at least once in a lifetime. "

"Where is your lot? They say it's unhealthy, over there. "

Up to a certain point in their prosperity Mrs. Lapham had kept strictaccount of all her husband's affairs; but as they expanded, and ceasedto be of the retail nature with which women successfully grapple, theintimate knowledge of them made her nervous. There was a period inwhich she felt that they were being ruined, but the crash had not come;and, since his great success, she had abandoned herself to a blindconfidence in her husband's judgment, which she had hitherto feltneeded her revision. He came and went, day by day, unquestioned. Hebought and sold and got gain. She knew that he would tell her if everthings went wrong, and he knew that she would ask him whenever she wasanxious. 

"It ain't unhealthy where I've bought, " said Lapham, rather enjoyingher insinuation. "I looked after that when I was trading; and I guessit's about as healthy on the Back Bay as it is here, anyway. I gotthat lot for you, Pert; I thought you'd want to build on the Back Baysome day. "

"Pshaw!" said Mrs. Lapham, deeply pleased inwardly, but not going toshow it, as she would have said. "I guess you want to build thereyourself. " She insensibly got a little nearer to her husband. Theyliked to talk to each other in that blunt way; it is the New Englandway of expressing perfect confidence and tenderness. 

"Well, I guess I do, " said Lapham, not insisting upon the unselfishview of the matter. "I always did like the water side of Beacon. There ain't a sightlier place in the world for a house. And some daythere's bound to be a drive-way all along behind them houses, betweenthem and the water, and then a lot there is going to be worth the goldthat will cover it--COIN. I've had offers for that lot, Pert, twiceover what I give for it. Yes, I have. Don't you want to ride overthere some afternoon with me and see it?" "I'm satisfied where we be, Si, " said Mrs. Lapham, recurring to the parlance of her youth in herpathos at her husband's kindness. She sighed anxiously, for she feltthe trouble a woman knows in view of any great change. They had oftentalked of altering over the house in which they lived, but they hadnever come to it; and they had often talked of building, but it hadalways been a house in the country that they had thought of. "I wishyou had sold that lot. "

"I hain't, " said the colonel briefly. 

"I don't know as I feel much like changing our way of living. "

"Guess we could live there pretty much as we live here. There's allkinds of people on Beacon Street; you mustn't think they're allbig-bugs. I know one party that lives in a house he built to sell, andhis wife don't keep any girl. You can have just as much style there asyou want, or just as little. I guess we live as well as most of 'emnow, and set as good a table. And if you come to style, I don't knowas anybody has got more of a right to put it on than what we have. "

"Well, I don't want to build on Beacon Street, Si, " said Mrs. Laphamgently. 

"Just as you please, Persis. I ain't in any hurry to leave. "

Mrs. Lapham stood flapping the cheque which she held in her right handagainst the edge of her left. 

The Colonel still sat looking up at her face, and watching the effectof the poison of ambition which he had artfully instilled into her mind. 

She sighed again--a yielding sigh. "What are you going to do thisafternoon?"

"I'm going to take a turn on the Brighton road, " said the Colonel. 

"I don't believe but what I should like to go along, " said his wife. 

"All right. You hain't ever rode behind that mare yet, Pert, and Iwant you should see me let her out once. They say the snow's allpacked down already, and the going is A 1. "

At four o'clock in the afternoon, with a cold, red winter sunset beforethem, the Colonel and his wife were driving slowly down Beacon Streetin the light, high-seated cutter, where, as he said, they were a prettytight fit. He was holding the mare in till the time came to speed her, and the mare was springily jolting over the snow, looking intelligentlyfrom side to side, and cocking this ear and that, while from hernostrils, her head tossing easily, she blew quick, irregular whiffs ofsteam. 

"Gay, ain't she?" proudly suggested the Colonel. 

"She IS gay, " assented his wife. 

They met swiftly dashing sleighs, and let them pass on either hand, down the beautiful avenue narrowing with an admirably even sky-line inthe perspective. They were not in a hurry. The mare jounced easilyalong, and they talked of the different houses on either side of theway. They had a crude taste in architecture, and they admired theworst. There were women's faces at many of the handsome windows, andonce in a while a young man on the pavement caught his hat suddenlyfrom his head, and bowed in response to some salutation from within. 

"I don't think our girls would look very bad behind one of those bigpanes, " said the Colonel. 

"No, " said his wife dreamily. 

"Where's the YOUNG man? Did he come with them?"

"No; he was to spend the winter with a friend of his that has a ranchin Texas. I guess he's got to do something. "

"Yes; gentlemaning as a profession has got to play out in a generationor two. "

Neither of them spoke of the lot, though Lapham knew perfectly wellwhat his wife had come with him for, and she was aware that he knew it. The time came when he brought the mare down to a walk, and then slowedup almost to a stop, while they both turned their heads to the rightand looked at the vacant lot, through which showed the frozen stretchof the Back Bay, a section of the Long Bridge, and the roofs andsmoke-stacks of Charlestown. 

"Yes, it's sightly, " said Mrs. Lapham, lifting her hand from the reins, on which she had unconsciously laid it. 

Lapham said nothing, but he let the mare out a little. 

The sleighs and cutters were thickening round them. On the Milldam itbecame difficult to restrict the mare to the long, slow trot into whichhe let her break. The beautiful landscape widened to right and left ofthem, with the sunset redder and redder, over the low, irregular hillsbefore them. They crossed the Milldam into Longwood; and here, fromthe crest of the first upland, stretched two endless lines, in whichthousands of cutters went and came. Some of the drivers were alreadyspeeding their horses, and these shot to and fro on inner lines, between the slowly moving vehicles on either side of the road. Hereand there a burly mounted policeman, bulging over the pommel of hisM'Clellan saddle, jolted by, silently gesturing and directing thecourse, and keeping it all under the eye of the law. It was whatBartley Hubbard called "a carnival of fashion and gaiety on theBrighton road, " in his account of it. But most of the people in thoseelegant sleighs and cutters had so little the air of the great worldthat one knowing it at all must have wondered where they and theirmoney came from; and the gaiety of the men, at least, was expressed, like that of Colonel Lapham, in a grim almost fierce, alertness; thewomen wore an air of courageous apprehension. At a certain point theColonel said, "I'm going to let her out, Pert, " and he lifted and thendropped the reins lightly on the mare's back. 

She understood the signal, and, as an admirer said, "she laid down toher work. " Nothing in the immutable iron of Lapham's face betrayed hissense of triumph as the mare left everything behind her on the road. Mrs. Lapham, if she felt fear, was too busy holding her flying wrapsabout her, and shielding her face from the scud of ice flung from themare's heels, to betray it; except for the rush of her feet, the marewas as silent as the people behind her; the muscles of her back andthighs worked more and more swiftly, like some mechanism responding toan alien force, and she shot to the end of the course, grazing ahundred encountered and rival sledges in her passage, but unmolested bythe policemen, who probably saw that the mare and the Colonel knew whatthey were about, and, at any rate, were not the sort of men tointerfere with trotting like that. At the end of the heat Lapham drewher in, and turned off on a side street into Brookline. 

"Tell you what, Pert, " he said, as if they had been quietly joggingalong, with time for uninterrupted thought since he last spoke, "I'veabout made up my mind to build on that lot. "

"All right, Silas, " said Mrs. Lapham; "I suppose you know what you'reabout. Don't build on it for me, that's all. "

When she stood in the hall at home, taking off her things, she said tothe girls, who were helping her, "Some day your father will get killedwith that mare. "

"Did he speed her?" asked Penelope, the elder. 

She was named after her grandmother, who had in her turn inherited fromanother ancestress the name of the Homeric matron whose peculiar meritswon her a place even among the Puritan Faiths, Hopes, Temperances, andPrudences. Penelope was the girl whose odd serious face had struckBartley Hubbard in the photograph of the family group Lapham showed himon the day of the interview. Her large eyes, like her hair, werebrown; they had the peculiar look of near-sighted eyes which is calledmooning; her complexion was of a dark pallor. 

Her mother did not reply to a question which might be consideredalready answered. "He says he's going to build on that lot of his, "she next remarked, unwinding the long veil which she had tied round herneck to hold her bonnet on. She put her hat and cloak on the halltable, to be carried upstairs later, and they all went in to tea:creamed oysters, birds, hot biscuit, two kinds of cake, and dishes ofstewed and canned fruit and honey. The women dined alone at one, andthe Colonel at the same hour down-town. But he liked a good hot mealwhen he got home in the evening. The house flared with gas; and theColonel, before he sat down, went about shutting the registers, throughwhich a welding heat came voluming up from the furnace. 

"I'll be the death of that darkey YET, " he said, "if he don't stopmaking on such a fire. The only way to get any comfort out of yourfurnace is to take care of it yourself. "

"Well, " answered his wife from behind the teapot, as he sat down attable with this threat, "there's nothing to prevent you, Si. And youcan shovel the snow too, if you want to--till you get over to BeaconStreet, anyway. "

"I guess I can keep my own sidewalk on Beacon Street clean, if I takethe notion. "

"I should like to see you at it, " retorted his wife. 

"Well, you keep a sharp lookout, and may be you will. "

Their taunts were really expressions of affectionate pride in eachother. They liked to have it, give and take, that way, as they wouldhave said, right along. 

"A man can be a man on Beacon Street as well as anywhere, I guess. "

"Well, I'll do the wash, as I used to in Lumberville, " said Mrs. Lapham. "I presume you'll let me have set tubs, Si. You know I ain'tso young any more. " She passed Irene a cup of Oolong tea, --none of themhad a sufficiently cultivated palate for Sou-chong, --and the girlhanded it to her father. "Papa, " she asked, "you don't really meanthat you're going to build over there?"

"Don't I? You wait and see, " said the Colonel, stirring his tea. 

"I don't believe you do, " pursued the girl. 

"Is that so? I presume you'd hate to have me. Your mother does. " Hesaid DOOS, of course. 

Penelope took the word. "I go in for it. I don't see any use in notenjoying money, if you've got it to enjoy. That's what it's for, Isuppose; though you mightn't always think so. " She had a slow, quaintway of talking, that seemed a pleasant personal modification of someancestral Yankee drawl, and her voice was low and cozy, and so far frombeing nasal that it was a little hoarse. 

"I guess the ayes has it, Pen, " said her father. "How would it do tolet Irene and your mother stick in the old place here, and us go intothe new house?" At times the Colonel's grammar failed him. 

The matter dropped, and the Laphams lived on as before, with jokingrecurrences to the house on the water side of Beacon. The Colonelseemed less in earnest than any of them about it; but that was his way, his girls said; you never could tell when he really meant a thing. 

III. 

TOWARD the end of the winter there came a newspaper, addressed to MissIrene Lapham; it proved to be a Texas newspaper, with a complimentaryaccount of the ranch of the Hon. Loring G. Stanton, which therepresentative of the journal had visited. 

"It must be his friend, " said Mrs. Lapham, to whom her daughter broughtthe paper; "the one he's staying with. "

The girl did not say anything, but she carried the paper to her room, where she scanned every line of it for another name. She did not findit, but she cut the notice out and stuck it into the side of hermirror, where she could read it every morning when she brushed herhair, and the last thing at night when she looked at herself in theglass just before turning off the gas. Her sister often read it aloud, standing behind her and rendering it with elocutionary effects. 

"The first time I ever heard of a love-letter in the form of a puff toa cattle-ranch. But perhaps that's the style on the Hill. "

Mrs. Lapham told her husband of the arrival of the paper, treating thefact with an importance that he refused to see in it. 

"How do you know the fellow sent it, anyway?" he demanded. 

"Oh, I know he did. "

"I don't see why he couldn't write to 'Rene, if he really meantanything. "

"Well, I guess that wouldn't be their way, " said Mrs. Lapham; she didnot at all know what their way would be. 

When the spring opened Colonel Lapham showed that he had been inearnest about building on the New Land. His idea of a house was abrown-stone front, four stories high, and a French roof with anair-chamber above. Inside, there was to be a reception-room on thestreet and a dining-room back. The parlours were to be on the secondfloor, and finished in black walnut or party-coloured paint. Thechambers were to be on the three floors above, front and rear, withside-rooms over the front door. Black walnut was to be used everywhereexcept in the attic, which was to be painted and grained to look likeblack walnut. The whole was to be very high-studded, and there were tobe handsome cornices and elaborate centre-pieces throughout, except, again, in the attic. 

These ideas he had formed from the inspection of many new buildingswhich he had seen going up, and which he had a passion for lookinginto. He was confirmed in his ideas by a master builder who had put upa great many houses on the Back Bay as a speculation, and who told himthat if he wanted to have a house in the style, that was the way tohave it. 

The beginnings of the process by which Lapham escaped from the masterbuilder and ended in the hands of an architect are so obscure that itwould be almost impossible to trace them. But it all happened, andLapham promptly developed his ideas of black walnut finish, highstudding, and cornices. The architect was able to conceal the shudderwhich they must have sent through him. He was skilful, as nearly allarchitects are, in playing upon that simple instrument Man. He beganto touch Colonel Lapham's stops. 

"Oh, certainly, have the parlours high-studded. But you've seen some ofthose pretty old-fashioned country-houses, haven't you, where theentrance-story is very low-studded?" "Yes, " Lapham assented. 

"Well, don't you think something of that kind would have a very niceeffect? Have the entrance-story low-studded, and your parlours on thenext floor as high as you please. Put your little reception-room herebeside the door, and get the whole width of your house frontage for asquare hall, and an easy low-tread staircase running up three sides ofit. I'm sure Mrs. Lapham would find it much pleasanter. " The architectcaught toward him a scrap of paper lying on the table at which theywere sitting and sketched his idea. "Then have your dining-room behindthe hall, looking on the water. "

He glanced at Mrs. Lapham, who said, "Of course, " and the architectwent on--

"That gets you rid of one of those long, straight, uglystaircases, "--until that moment Lapham had thought a long, straightstaircase the chief ornament of a house, --"and gives you an effect ofamplitude and space. "

"That's so!" said Mrs. Lapham. Her husband merely made a noise in histhroat. 

"Then, were you thinking of having your parlours together, connected byfolding doors?" asked the architect deferentially. 

"Yes, of course, " said Lapham. "They're always so, ain't they?"

"Well, nearly, " said the architect. "I was wondering how would it doto make one large square room at the front, taking the whole breadth ofthe house, and, with this hall-space between, have a music-room backfor the young ladies?"

Lapham looked helplessly at his wife, whose quicker apprehension hadfollowed the architect's pencil with instant sympathy. "First-rate!"she cried. 

The Colonel gave way. "I guess that would do. It'll be kind of odd, won't it?"

"Well, I don't know, " said the architect. "Not so odd, I hope, as theother thing will be a few years from now. " He went on to plan the restof the house, and he showed himself such a master in regard to all thepractical details that Mrs. Lapham began to feel a motherly affectionfor the young man, and her husband could not deny in his heart that thefellow seemed to understand his business. He stopped walking about theroom, as he had begun to do when the architect and Mrs. Lapham enteredinto the particulars of closets, drainage, kitchen arrangements, andall that, and came back to the table. "I presume, " he said, "you'llhave the drawing-room finished in black walnut?"

"Well, yes, " replied the architect, "if you like. But some lessexpensive wood can be made just as effective with paint. Of course youcan paint black walnut too. "

"Paint it?" gasped the Colonel. 

"Yes, " said the architect quietly. "White, or a little off white. "

Lapham dropped the plan he had picked up from the table. His wife madea little move toward him of consolation or support. 

"Of course, " resumed the architect, "I know there has been a greatcraze for black walnut. But it's an ugly wood; and for a drawing-roomthere is really nothing like white paint. We should want to introducea little gold here and there. Perhaps we might run a painted friezeround under the cornice--garlands of roses on a gold ground; it wouldtell wonderfully in a white room. "

The Colonel returned less courageously to the charge. "I presumeyou'll want Eastlake mantel-shelves and tiles?" He meant this for asarcastic thrust at a prevailing foible of the profession. 

"Well, no, " gently answered the architect. "I was thinking perhaps awhite marble chimney-piece, treated in the refined Empire style, wouldbe the thing for that room. "

"White marble!" exclaimed the Colonel. "I thought that had gone outlong ago. "

"Really beautiful things can't go out. They may disappear for a littlewhile, but they must come back. It's only the ugly things that stayout after they've had their day. "

Lapham could only venture very modestly, "Hard-wood floors?"

"In the music-room, of course, " consented the architect. 

"And in the drawing-room?"

"Carpet. Some sort of moquette, I should say. But I should prefer toconsult Mrs. Lapham's taste in that matter. "

"And in the other rooms?"

"Oh, carpets, of course. "

"And what about the stairs?"

"Carpet. And I should have the rail and banisters white--banistersturned or twisted. "

The Colonel said under his breath, "Well, I'm dumned!" but he gave noutterance to his astonishment in the architect's presence. When hewent at last, --the session did not end till eleven o'clock, --Laphamsaid, "Well, Pert, I guess that fellow's fifty years behind, or tenyears ahead. I wonder what the Ongpeer style is?"

"I don't know. I hated to ask. But he seemed to understand what hewas talking about. I declare, he knows what a woman wants in a housebetter than she does herself. "

"And a man's simply nowhere in comparison, " said Lapham. But herespected a fellow who could beat him at every point, and have a reasonready, as this architect had; and when he recovered from the daze intowhich the complete upheaval of all his preconceived notions had lefthim, he was in a fit state to swear by the architect. It seemed to himthat he had discovered the fellow (as he always called him) and ownedhim now, and the fellow did nothing to disturb this impression. Heentered into that brief but intense intimacy with the Laphams which thesympathetic architect holds with his clients. He was privy to alltheir differences of opinion and all their disputes about the house. He knew just where to insist upon his own ideas, and where to yield. He was really building several other houses, but he gave the Laphamsthe impression that he was doing none but theirs. 

The work was not begun till the frost was thoroughly out of the ground, which that year was not before the end of April. Even then it did notproceed very rapidly. Lapham said they might as well take their timeto it; if they got the walls up and the thing closed in before the snowflew, they could be working at it all winter. It was found necessaryto dig for the kitchen; at that point the original salt-marsh lay nearthe surface, and before they began to put in the piles for thefoundation they had to pump. The neighbourhood smelt like the hold ofa ship after a three years' voyage. People who had cast their fortuneswith the New Land went by professing not to notice it; people who still"hung on to the Hill" put their handkerchiefs to their noses, and toldeach other the old terrible stories of the material used in filling upthe Back Bay. 

Nothing gave Lapham so much satisfaction in the whole construction ofhis house as the pile-driving. When this began, early in the summer, hetook Mrs. Lapham every day in his buggy and drove round to look at it;stopping the mare in front of the lot, and watching the operation witheven keener interest than the little loafing Irish boys whosuperintended it in force. It pleased him to hear the portable enginechuckle out a hundred thin whiffs of steam in carrying the big ironweight to the top of the framework above the pile, then seem tohesitate, and cough once or twice in pressing the weight against thedetaching apparatus. There was a moment in which the weight had theeffect of poising before it fell; then it dropped with a mighty whackon the iron-bound head of the pile, and drove it a foot into the earth. 

"By gracious!" he would say, "there ain't anything like that in THISworld for BUSINESS, Persis!"

Mrs. Lapham suffered him to enjoy the sight twenty or thirty timesbefore she said, "Well, now drive on, Si. "

By the time the foundation was in and the brick walls had begun to goup, there were so few people left in the neighbourhood that she mightindulge with impunity her husband's passion for having her clamber overthe floor-timbers and the skeleton stair-cases with him. Many of thehouseholders had boarded up their front doors before the buds had begunto swell and the assessor to appear in early May; others had followedsoon; and Mrs. Lapham was as safe from remark as if she had been in thedepth of the country. Ordinarily she and her girls left town early inJuly, going to one of the hotels at Nantasket, where it was convenientfor the Colonel to get to and from his business by the boat. But thissummer they were all lingering a few weeks later, under the novelfascination of the new house, as they called it, as if there were noother in the world. 

Lapham drove there with his wife after he had set Bartley Hubbard downat the Events office, but on this day something happened thatinterfered with the solid pleasure they usually took in going over thehouse. As the Colonel turned from casting anchor at the mare's headwith the hitching-weight, after helping his wife to alight, heencountered a man to whom he could not help speaking, though the manseemed to share his hesitation if not his reluctance at the necessity. He was a tallish, thin man, with a dust-coloured face, and a dead, clerical air, which somehow suggested at once feebleness and tenacity. 

Mrs. Lapham held out her hand to him. 

"Why, Mr. Rogers!" she exclaimed; and then, turning toward her husband, seemed to refer the two men to each other. They shook hands, butLapham did not speak. "I didn't know you were in Boston, " pursued Mrs. Lapham. "Is Mrs. Rogers with you?"

"No, " said Mr. Rogers, with a voice which had the flat, succinct soundof two pieces of wood clapped together. "Mrs. Rogers is still inChicago. "

A little silence followed, and then Mrs Lapham said--

"I presume you are quite settled out there. "

"No; we have left Chicago. Mrs. Rogers has merely remained to finishup a little packing. "

"Oh, indeed! Are you coming back to Boston?"

"I cannot say as yet. We sometimes think of so doing. "

Lapham turned away and looked up at the building. His wife pulled alittle at her glove, as if embarrassed, or even pained. She tried tomake a diversion. 

"We are building a house, " she said, with a meaningless laugh. 

"Oh, indeed, " said Mr. Rogers, looking up at it. 

Then no one spoke again, and she said helplessly--

"If you come to Boston, I hope I shall see Mrs. Rogers. "

"She will be happy to have you call, " said Mr Rogers. 

He touched his hat-brim, and made a bow forward rather than in Mrs. Lapham's direction. 

She mounted the planking that led into the shelter of the bare brickwalls, and her husband slowly followed. When she turned her facetoward him her cheeks were burning, and tears that looked hot stood inher eyes. 

"You left it all to me!" she cried. "Why couldn't you speak a word?"

"I hadn't anything to say to him, " replied Lapham sullenly. 

They stood a while, without looking at the work which they had come toenjoy, and without speaking to each other. 

"I suppose we might as well go on, " said Mrs. Lapham at last, as theyreturned to the buggy. The Colonel drove recklessly toward theMilldam. His wife kept her veil down and her face turned from him. After a time she put her handkerchief up under her veil and wiped hereyes, and he set his teeth and squared his jaw. 

"I don't see how he always manages to appear just at the moment when heseems to have gone fairly out of our lives, and blight everything, " shewhimpered. 

"I supposed he was dead, " said Lapham. 

"Oh, don't SAY such a thing! It sounds as if you wished it. "

"Why do you mind it? What do you let him blight everything for?"

"I can't help it, and I don't believe I ever shall. I don't know ashis being dead would help it any. I can't ever see him without feelingjust as I did at first. "

"I tell you, " said Lapham, "it was a perfectly square thing. And Iwish, once for all, you would quit bothering about it. My conscienceis easy as far as he is concerned, and it always was. "

"And I can't look at him without feeling as if you'd ruined him, Silas. "

"Don't look at him, then, " said her husband, with a scowl. "I want youshould recollect in the first place, Persis, that I never wanted apartner. "

"If he hadn't put his money in when he did, you'd 'a' broken down. "

"Well, he got his money out again, and more, too, " said the Colonel, with a sulky weariness. 

"He didn't want to take it out. "

"I gave him his choice: buy out or go out. "

"You know he couldn't buy out then. It was no choice at all. "

"It was a business chance. "

"No; you had better face the truth, Silas. It was no chance at all. You crowded him out. A man that had saved you! No, you had got greedy, Silas. You had made your paint your god, and you couldn't bear to letanybody else share in its blessings. "

"I tell you he was a drag and a brake on me from the word go. You sayhe saved me. Well, if I hadn't got him out he'd 'a' ruined me sooneror later. So it's an even thing, as far forth as that goes. "

"No, it ain't an even thing, and you know it, Silas. Oh, if I couldonly get you once to acknowledge that you did wrong about it, then Ishould have some hope. I don't say you meant wrong exactly, but youtook an advantage. Yes, you took an advantage! You had him where hecouldn't help himself, and then you wouldn't show him any mercy. "

"I'm sick of this, " said Lapham. "If you'll 'tend to the house, I'llmanage my business without your help. "

"You were very glad of my help once. "

"Well, I'm tired of it now. Don't meddle. "

"I WILL meddle. When I see you hardening yourself in a wrong thing, it's time for me to meddle, as you call it, and I will. I can't everget you to own up the least bit about Rogers, and I feel as if it washurting you all the while. "

"What do you want I should own up about a thing for when I don't feelwrong? I tell you Rogers hain't got anything to complain of, and that'swhat I told you from the start. It's a thing that's done every day. Iwas loaded up with a partner that didn't know anything, and couldn't doanything, and I unloaded; that's all. "

"You unloaded just at the time when you knew that your paint was goingto be worth about twice what it ever had been; and you wanted all theadvantage for yourself. "

"I had a right to it. I made the success. "

"Yes, you made it with Rogers's money; and when you'd made it you tookhis share of it. I guess you thought of that when you saw him, andthat's why you couldn't look him in the face. "

At these words Lapham lost his temper. 

"I guess you don't want to ride with me any more to-day, " he said, turning the mare abruptly round. 

"I'm as ready to go back as what you are, " replied his wife. "Anddon't you ask me to go to that house with you any more. You can sellit, for all me. I sha'n't live in it. There's blood on it. "

IV. 

THE silken texture of the marriage tie bears a daily strain of wrongand insult to which no other human relation can be subjected withoutlesion; and sometimes the strength that knits society together mightappear to the eye of faltering faith the curse of those immediatelybound by it. Two people by no means reckless of each other's rightsand feelings, but even tender of them for the most part, may tear ateach other's heart-strings in this sacred bond with perfect impunity;though if they were any other two they would not speak or look at eachother again after the outrages they exchange. It is certainly acurious spectacle, and doubtless it ought to convince an observer ofthe divinity of the institution. If the husband and wife are blunt, outspoken people like the Laphams, they do not weigh their words; ifthey are more refined, they weigh them very carefully, and knowaccurately just how far they will carry, and in what most sensitivespot they may be planted with most effect. 

Lapham was proud of his wife, and when he married her it had been arise in life for him. For a while he stood in awe of his good fortune, but this could not last, and he simply remained supremely satisfiedwith it. The girl who had taught school with a clear head and a stronghand was not afraid of work; she encouraged and helped him from thefirst, and bore her full share of the common burden. She had health, and she did not worry his life out with peevish complaints andvagaries; she had sense and principle, and in their simple lot she didwhat was wise and right. Their marriage was hallowed by an earlysorrow: they lost their boy, and it was years before they could lookeach other in the face and speak of him. No one gave up more than theywhen they gave up each other and Lapham went to the war. When he cameback and began to work, her zeal and courage formed the spring of hisenterprise. In that affair of the partnership she had tried to be hisconscience, but perhaps she would have defended him if he had accusedhimself; it was one of those things in this life which seem destined toawait justice, or at least judgment, in the next. As he said, Laphamhad dealt fairly by his partner in money; he had let Rogers take moremoney out of the business than he put into it; he had, as he said, simply forced out of it a timid and inefficient participant inadvantages which he had created. But Lapham had not created them all. He had been dependent at one time on his partner's capital. It was amoment of terrible trial. Happy is the man for ever after who canchoose the ideal, the unselfish part in such an exigency! Lapham couldnot rise to it. He did what he could maintain to be perfectly fair. The wrong, if any, seemed to be condoned to him, except when from timeto time his wife brought it up. Then all the question stung and burnedanew, and had to be reasoned out and put away once more. It seemed tohave an inextinguishable vitality. It slept, but it did not die. 

His course did not shake Mrs. Lapham's faith in him. It astonished herat first, and it always grieved her that he could not see that he wasacting solely in his own interest. But she found excuses for him, which at times she made reproaches. She vaguely perceived that hispaint was something more than business to him; it was a sentiment, almost a passion. He could not share its management and its profitwith another without a measure of self-sacrifice far beyond that whichhe must make with something less personal to him. It was the poetry ofthat nature, otherwise so intensely prosaic; and she understood this, and for the most part forbore. She knew him good and true andblameless in all his life, except for this wrong, if it were a wrong;and it was only when her nerves tingled intolerably with some chancerenewal of the pain she had suffered, that she shared her anguish withhim in true wifely fashion. 

With those two there was never anything like an explicitreconciliation. They simply ignored a quarrel; and Mrs. Lapham hadonly to say a few days after at breakfast, "I guess the girls wouldlike to go round with you this afternoon, and look at the new house, "in order to make her husband grumble out as he looked down into hiscoffee-cup. "I guess we better all go, hadn't we?"

"Well, I'll see, " she said. 

There was not really a great deal to look at when Lapham arrived on theground in his four-seated beach-wagon. But the walls were up, and thestudding had already given skeleton shape to the interior. The floorswere roughly boarded over, and the stairways were in place, withprovisional treads rudely laid. They had not begun to lath and plasteryet, but the clean, fresh smell of the mortar in the walls minglingwith the pungent fragrance of the pine shavings neutralised theVenetian odour that drew in over the water. It was pleasantly shadythere, though for the matter of that the heat of the morning had allbeen washed out of the atmosphere by a tide of east wind setting in atnoon, and the thrilling, delicious cool of a Boston summer afternoonbathed every nerve. 

The foreman went about with Mrs. Lapham, showing her where the doorswere to be; but Lapham soon tired of this, and having found a pinestick of perfect grain, he abandoned himself to the pleasure ofwhittling it in what was to be the reception-room, where he sat lookingout on the street from what was to be the bay-window. Here he waspresently joined by his girls, who, after locating their own room onthe water side above the music-room, had no more wish to enter intodetails than their father. 

"Come and take a seat in the bay-window, ladies, " he called out tothem, as they looked in at him through the ribs of the wall. Hejocosely made room for them on the trestle on which he sat. 

They came gingerly and vaguely forward, as young ladies do when theywish not to seem to be going to do a thing they have made up theirminds to do. When they had taken their places on their trestle, theycould not help laughing with scorn, open and acceptable to theirfather; and Irene curled her chin up, in a little way she had, andsaid, "How ridiculous!" to her sister. 

"Well, I can tell you what, " said the Colonel, in fond enjoyment oftheir young ladyishness, "your mother wa'n't ashamed to sit with me ona trestle when I called her out to look at the first coat of my paintthat I ever tried on a house. "

"Yes; we've heard that story, " said Penelope, with easy security of herfather's liking what she said. "We were brought up on that story. "

"Well, it's a good story, " said her father. 

At that moment a young man came suddenly in range, who began to look upat the signs of building as he approached. He dropped his eyes incoming abreast of the bay-window, where Lapham sat with his girls, andthen his face lightened, and he took off his hat and bowed to Irene. She rose mechanically from the trestle, and her face lightened too. 

She was a very pretty figure of a girl, after our fashion of girls, round and slim and flexible, and her face was admirably regular. Buther great beauty--and it was very great--was in her colouring. Thiswas of an effect for which there is no word but delicious, as we use itof fruit or flowers. She had red hair, like her father in his earlierdays, and the tints of her cheeks and temples were such as suggestedMay-flowers and apple-blossoms and peaches. Instead of the grey thatoften dulls this complexion, her eyes were of a blue at once intenseand tender, and they seemed to burn on what they looked at with a soft, lambent flame. It was well understood by her sister and mother thather eyes always expressed a great deal more than Irene ever thought orfelt; but this is not saying that she was not a very sensible girl andvery honest. 

The young man faltered perceptibly, and Irene came a little forward, and then there gushed from them both a smiling exchange of greeting, ofwhich the sum was that he supposed she was out of town, and that shehad not known that he had got back. A pause ensued, and flushing againin her uncertainty as to whether she ought or ought not to do it, shesaid, "My father, Mr. Corey; and my sister. "

The young man took off his hat again, showing his shapely head, with aline of wholesome sunburn ceasing where the recently and closelyclipped hair began. He was dressed in a fine summer check, with a bluewhite-dotted neckerchief, and he had a white hat, in which he lookedvery well when he put it back on his head. His whole dress seemed veryfresh and new, and in fact he had cast aside his Texan habiliments onlythe day before. 

"How do you do, sir?" said the Colonel, stepping to the window, andreaching out of it the hand which the young man advanced to take. "Won't you come in? We're at home here. House I'm building. "

"Oh, indeed?" returned the young man; and he came promptly up thesteps, and through its ribs into the reception-room. 

"Have a trestle?" asked the Colonel, while the girls exchanged littleshocks of terror and amusement at the eyes. 

"Thank you, " said the young man simply, and sat down. 

"Mrs. Lapham is upstairs interviewing the carpenter, but she'll be downin a minute. "

"I hope she's quite well, " said Corey. "I supposed--I was afraid shemight be out of town. "

"Well, we are off to Nantasket next week. The house kept us in townpretty late. "

"It must be very exciting, building a house, " said Corey to the eldersister. 

"Yes, it is, " she assented, loyally refusing in Irene's interest theopportunity of saying anything more. 

Corey turned to the latter. "I suppose you've all helped to plan it?"

"Oh no; the architect and mamma did that. "

"But they allowed the rest of us to agree, when we were good, " saidPenelope. 

Corey looked at her, and saw that she was shorter than her sister, andhad a dark complexion. 

"It's very exciting, " said Irene. 

"Come up, " said the Colonel, rising, "and look round if you'd like to. "

"I should like to, very much, " said the young man. He helped the youngladies over crevasses of carpentry and along narrow paths of planking, on which they had made their way unassisted before. The elder sisterleft the younger to profit solely by these offices as much as possible. She walked between them and her father, who went before, lecturing oneach apartment, and taking the credit of the whole affair more and moreas he talked on. 

"There!" he said, "we're going to throw out a bay-window here, so asget the water all the way up and down. This is my girls' room, " headded, looking proudly at them both. 

It seemed terribly intimate. Irene blushed deeply and turned her headaway. 

But the young man took it all, apparently, as simply as their father. "What a lovely lookout!" he said. The Back Bay spread its glassy sheetbefore them, empty but for a few small boats and a large schooner, withher sails close-furled and dripping like snow from her spars, which atug was rapidly towing toward Cambridge. The carpentry of that city, embanked and embowered in foliage, shared the picturesqueness ofCharlestown in the distance. 

"Yes, " said Lapham, "I go in for using the best rooms in your houseyourself. If people come to stay with you, they can put up with thesecond best. Though we don't intend to have any second best. Thereain't going to be an unpleasant room in the whole house, from top tobottom. "

"Oh, I wish papa wouldn't brag so!" breathed Irene to her sister, wherethey stood, a little apart, looking away together. 

The Colonel went on. "No, sir, " he swelled out, "I have gone in formaking a regular job of it. I've got the best architect in Boston, andI'm building a house to suit myself. And if money can do it, guess I'mgoing to be suited. "

"It seems very delightful, " said Corey, "and very original. "

"Yes, sir. That fellow hadn't talked five minutes before I saw that heknew what he was about every time. "

"I wish mamma would come!" breathed Irene again. "I shall certainly gothrough the floor if papa says anything more. "

"They are making a great many very pretty houses nowadays, " said theyoung man. "It's very different from the old-fashioned building. "

"Well, " said the Colonel, with a large toleration of tone and a deepbreath that expanded his ample chest, "we spend more on our housesnowadays. I started out to build a forty-thousand-dollar house. Well, sir! that fellow has got me in for more than sixty thousand already, and I doubt if I get out of it much under a hundred. You can't have anice house for nothing. It's just like ordering a picture of apainter. You pay him enough, and he can afford to paint you afirst-class picture; and if you don't, he can't. That's all there is ofit. Why, they tell me that A. T. Stewart gave one of those Frenchfellows sixty thousand dollars for a little seven-by-nine picture theother day. Yes, sir, give an architect money enough, and he'll giveyou a nice house every time. "

"I've heard that they're sharp at getting money to realise theirideas, " assented the young man, with a laugh. 

"Well, I should say so!" exclaimed the Colonel. "They come to you withan improvement that you can't resist. It has good looks andcommon-sense and everything in its favour, and it's like throwing moneyaway to refuse. And they always manage to get you when your wife isaround, and then you're helpless. "

The Colonel himself set the example of laughing at this joke, and theyoung man joined him less obstreperously. The girls turned, and hesaid, "I don't think I ever saw this view to better advantage. It'ssurprising how well the Memorial Hall and the Cambridge spires work up, over there. And the sunsets must be magnificent. "

Lapham did not wait for them to reply. 

"Yes, sir, it's about the sightliest view I know of. I always did likethe water side of Beacon. Long before I owned property here, or everexpected to, m'wife and I used to ride down this way, and stop thebuggy to get this view over the water. When people talk to me aboutthe Hill, I can understand 'em. It's snug, and it's old-fashioned, andit's where they've always lived. But when they talk about CommonwealthAvenue, I don't know what they mean. It don't hold a candle to thewater side of Beacon. You've got just as much wind over there, andyou've got just as much dust, and all the view you've got is the viewacross the street. No, sir! when you come to the Back Bay at all, giveme the water side of Beacon. "

"Oh, I think you're quite right, " said the young man. "The view hereis everything. "

Irene looked "I wonder what papa is going to say next!" at her sister, when their mother's voice was heard overhead, approaching the openingin the floor where the stairs were to be; and she presently appeared, with one substantial foot a long way ahead. She was followed by thecarpenter, with his rule sticking out of his overalls pocket, and shewas still talking to him about some measurements they had been taking, when they reached the bottom, so that Irene had to say, "Mamma, Mr. Corey, " before Mrs. Lapham was aware of him. 

He came forward with as much grace and speed as the uncertain footingwould allow, and Mrs. Lapham gave him a stout squeeze of hercomfortable hand. 

"Why, Mr. Corey! When did you get back?"

"Yesterday. It hardly seems as if I HAD got back. I didn't expect tofind you in a new house. "

"Well, you are our first caller. I presume you won't expect I shouldmake excuses for the state you find it in. Has the Colonel been doingthe honours?"

"Oh yes. And I've seen more of your house than I ever shall again, Isuppose. "

"Well, I hope not, " said Lapham. "There'll be several chances to seeus in the old one yet, before we leave. "

He probably thought this a neat, off-hand way of making the invitation, for he looked at his woman-kind as if he might expect their admiration. 

"Oh yes, indeed!" said his wife. "We shall be very glad to see Mr. Corey, any time. "

"Thank you; I shall be glad to come. "

He and the Colonel went before, and helped the ladies down thedifficult descent. Irene seemed less sure-footed than the others; sheclung to the young man's hand an imperceptible moment longer than needbe, or else he detained her. He found opportunity of saying, "It's sopleasant seeing you again, " adding, "all of you. "

"Thank you, " said the girl. "They must all be glad to have you at homeagain. "

Corey laughed. 

"Well, I suppose they would be, if they were at home to have me. Butthe fact is, there's nobody in the house but my father and myself, andI'm only on my way to Bar Harbour. "

"Oh! Are they there?"

"Yes; it seems to be the only place where my mother can get just thecombination of sea and mountain air that she wants. "

"We go to Nantasket--it's convenient for papa; and I don't believe weshall go anywhere else this summer, mamma's so taken up with building. We do nothing but talk house; and Pen says we eat and sleep house. Shesays it would be a sort of relief to go and live in tents for a while. "

"She seems to have a good deal of humour, " the young man ventured, uponthe slender evidence. 

The others had gone to the back of the house a moment, to look at somesuggested change. Irene and Corey were left standing in the doorway. A lovely light of happiness played over her face and etherealised itsdelicious beauty. She had some ado to keep herself from smilingoutright, and the effort deepened the dimples in her cheeks; shetrembled a little, and the pendants shook in the tips of her prettyears. 

The others came back directly, and they all descended the front stepstogether. The Colonel was about to renew his invitation, but he caughthis wife's eye, and, without being able to interpret its warningexactly, was able to arrest himself, and went about gathering up thehitching-weight, while the young man handed the ladies into thephaeton. Then he lifted his hat, and the ladies all bowed, and theLaphams drove off, Irene's blue ribbons fluttering backward from herhat, as if they were her clinging thoughts. 

"So that's young Corey, is it?" said the Colonel, letting the statelystepping, tall coupe horse make his way homeward at will with thebeach-wagon. "Well, he ain't a bad-looking fellow, and he's got a good, fair and square, honest eye. But I don't see how a fellow like that, that's had every advantage in this world, can hang round home and lethis father support him. Seems to me, if I had his health and hiseducation, I should want to strike out and do something for myself. "

The girls on the back seat had hold of each other's hands, and theyexchanged electrical pressures at the different points their fathermade. 

"I presume, " said Mrs. Lapham, "that he was down in Texas looking aftersomething. "

"He's come back without finding it, I guess. "

"Well, if his father has the money to support him, and don't complainof the burden, I don't see why WE should. "

"Oh, I know it's none of my business, but I don't like the principle. I like to see a man ACT like a man. I don't like to see him taken careof like a young lady. Now, I suppose that fellow belongs to two orthree clubs, and hangs around 'em all day, lookin' out thewindow, --I've seen 'em, --instead of tryin' to hunt up something to dofor an honest livin'. "

"If I was a young man, " Penelope struck in, "I would belong to twentyclubs, if I could find them and I would hang around them all, and lookout the window till I dropped. "

"Oh, you would, would you?" demanded her father, delighted with herdefiance, and twisting his fat head around over his shoulder to look ather. "Well, you wouldn't do it on my money, if you were a son of MINE, young lady. "

"Oh, you wait and see, " retorted the girl. 

This made them all laugh. But the Colonel recurred seriously to thesubject that night, as he was winding up his watch preparatory toputting it under his pillow. 

"I could make a man of that fellow, if I had him in the business withme. There's stuff in him. But I spoke up the way I did because Ididn't choose Irene should think I would stand any kind of a loafer'round--I don't care who he is, or how well educated or brought up. And I guess, from the way Pen spoke up, that 'Rene saw what I wasdriving at. "

The girl, apparently, was less anxious about her father's ideas andprinciples than about the impression which he had made upon the youngman. She had talked it over and over with her sister before they wentto bed, and she asked in despair, as she stood looking at Penelopebrushing out her hair before the glass--

"Do you suppose he'll think papa always talks in that bragging way?"

"He'll be right if he does, " answered her sister. "It's the way fatheralways does talk. You never noticed it so much, that's all. And Iguess if he can't make allowance for father's bragging, he'll be alittle too good. I enjoyed hearing the Colonel go on. "

"I know you did, " returned Irene in distress. Then she sighed. "Didn't you think he looked very nice?"

"Who? The Colonel?" Penelope had caught up the habit of calling herfather so from her mother, and she used his title in all her jocose andperverse moods. 

"You know very well I don't mean papa, " pouted Irene. "Oh! Mr. Corey!Why didn't you say Mr. Corey if you meant Mr. Corey? If I meant Mr. Corey, I should say Mr. Corey. It isn't swearing! Corey, Corey, Co----"

Her sister clapped her hand over her mouth "Will you HUSH, you wretchedthing?" she whimpered. "The whole house can hear you. "

"Oh yes, they can hear me all over the square. Well, I think he lookedwell enough for a plain youth, who hadn't taken his hair out ofcurl-papers for some time. "

"It WAS clipped pretty close, " Irene admitted; and they both laughed atthe drab effect of Mr. Corey's skull, as they remembered it. "Did youlike his nose?" asked Irene timorously. 

"Ah, now you're COMING to something, " said Penelope. "I don't knowwhether, if I had so much of a nose, I should want it all Roman. "

"I don't see how you can expect to have a nose part one kind and partanother, " argued Irene. 

"Oh, I do. Look at mine!" She turned aside her face, so as to get athree-quarters view of her nose in the glass, and crossing her hands, with the brush in one of them, before her, regarded it judicially. "Now, my nose started Grecian, but changed its mind before it got overthe bridge, and concluded to be snub the rest of the way. "

"You've got a very pretty nose, Pen, " said Irene, joining in thecontemplation of its reflex in the glass. 

"Don't say that in hopes of getting me to compliment HIS, Mrs. "--shestopped, and then added deliberately--"C. !"

Irene also had her hair-brush in her hand, and now she sprang at hersister and beat her very softly on the shoulder with the flat of it. "You mean thing!" she cried, between her shut teeth, blushing hotly. 

"Well, D. , then, " said Penelope. "You've nothing to say against D. ?Though I think C. Is just as nice an initial. "

"Oh!" cried the younger, for all expression of unspeakable things. 

"I think he has very good eyes, " admitted Penelope. 

"Oh, he HAS! And didn't you like the way his sackcoat set? So close tohim, and yet free--kind of peeling away at the lapels?"

"Yes, I should say he was a young man of great judgment. He knows howto choose his tailor. "

Irene sat down on the edge of a chair. "It was so nice of you, Pen, tocome in, that way, about clubs. "

"Oh, I didn't mean anything by it except opposition, " said Penelope. "I couldn't have father swelling on so, without saying something. "

"How he did swell!" sighed Irene. "Wasn't it a relief to have mammacome down, even if she did seem to be all stocking at first?"

The girls broke into a wild giggle, and hid their faces in each other'snecks. "I thought I SHOULD die, " said Irene. 

"'It's just like ordering a painting, '" said Penelope, recalling herfather's talk, with an effect of dreamy absent-mindedness. "'You givethe painter money enough, and he can afford to paint you a first-classpicture. Give an architect money enough, and he'll give you afirst-class house, every time. '"

"Oh, wasn't it awful!" moaned her sister. "No one would ever havesupposed that he had fought the very idea of an architect for weeks, before he gave in. "

Penelope went on. "'I always did like the water side of Beacon, --longbefore I owned property there. When you come to the Back Bay at all, give me the water side of Beacon. '"

"Ow-w-w-w!" shrieked Irene. "DO stop!"

The door of their mother's chamber opened below, and the voice of thereal Colonel called, "What are you doing up there, girls? Why don't yougo to bed?"

This extorted nervous shrieks from both of them. The Colonel heard asound of scurrying feet, whisking drapery, and slamming doors. Then heheard one of the doors opened again, and Penelope said, "I was onlyrepeating something you said when you talked to Mr. Corey. "

"Very well, now, " answered the Colonel. "You postpone the rest of ittill to-morrow at breakfast, and see that you're up in time to let MEhear it. "

V. 

AT the same moment young Corey let himself in at his own door with hislatch-key, and went to the library, where he found his father turningthe last leaves of a story in the Revue des Deux Mondes. He was awhite-moustached old gentleman, who had never been able to abandon hispince-nez for the superior comfort of spectacles, even in the privacyof his own library. He knocked the glasses off as his son came in andlooked up at him with lazy fondness, rubbing the two red marks thatthey always leave on the side of the nose. 

"Tom, " he said, "where did you get such good clothes?"

"I stopped over a day in New York, " replied the son, finding himself achair. "I'm glad you like them. "

"Yes, I always do like your clothes, Tom, " returned the fatherthoughtfully, swinging his glasses, "But I don't see how you can afford'em, I can't. "

"Well, sir, " said the son, who dropped the "sir" into his speech withhis father, now and then, in an old-fashioned way that was rathercharming, "you see, I have an indulgent parent. "

"Smoke?" suggested the father, pushing toward his son a box ofcigarettes, from which he had taken one. 

"No, thank you, " said the son. "I've dropped that. "

"Ah, is that so?" The father began to feel about on the table formatches, in the purblind fashion of elderly men. His son rose, lightedone, and handed it to him. "Well, --oh, thank you, Tom!--I believe somestatisticians prove that if you will give up smoking you can dress verywell on the money your tobacco costs, even if you haven't got anindulgent parent. But I'm too old to try. Though, I confess, I shouldrather like the clothes. Whom did you find at the club?"

"There were a lot of fellows there, " said young Corey, watching theaccomplished fumigation of his father in an absent way. 

"It's astonishing what a hardy breed the young club-men are, " observedhis father. "All summer through, in weather that sends the sturdiestfemale flying to the sea-shore, you find the clubs filled with youngmen, who don't seem to mind the heat in the least. "

"Boston isn't a bad place, at the worst, in summer, " said the son, declining to take up the matter in its ironical shape. 

"I dare say it isn't, compared with Texas, " returned the father, smoking tranquilly on. "But I don't suppose you find many of yourfriends in town outside of the club. "

"No; you're requested to ring at the rear door, all the way down BeaconStreet and up Commonwealth Avenue. It's rather a blank reception forthe returning prodigal. "

"Ah, the prodigal must take his chance if he comes back out of season. But I'm glad to have you back, Tom, even as it is, and I hope you'renot going to hurry away. You must give your energies a rest. "

"I'm sure you never had to reproach me with abnormal activity, "suggested the son, taking his father's jokes in good part. 

"No, I don't know that I have, " admitted the elder. "You've alwaysshown a fair degree of moderation, after all. What do you think oftaking up next? I mean after you have embraced your mother and sistersat Mount Desert. Real estate? It seems to me that it is about time foryou to open out as a real-estate broker. Or did you ever think ofmatrimony?"

"Well, not just in that way, sir, " said the young man. "I shouldn'tquite like to regard it as a career, you know. "

"No, no. I understand that. And I quite agree with you. But you knowI've always contended that the affections could be made to combinepleasure and profit. I wouldn't have a man marry for money, --thatwould be rather bad, --but I don't see why, when it comes to falling inlove, a man shouldn't fall in love with a rich girl as easily as a poorone. Some of the rich girls are very nice, and I should say that thechances of a quiet life with them were rather greater. They've alwayshad everything, and they wouldn't be so ambitious and uneasy. Don'tyou think so?"

"It would depend, " said the son, "upon whether a girl's people had beenrich long enough to have given her position before she married. Ifthey hadn't, I don't see how she would be any better than a poor girlin that respect. "

"Yes, there's sense in that. But the suddenly rich are on a level withany of us nowadays. Money buys position at once. I don't say that itisn't all right. The world generally knows what it's about, and knowshow to drive a bargain. I dare say it makes the new rich pay too much. But there's no doubt but money is to the fore now. It is the romance, the poetry of our age. It's the thing that chiefly strikes theimagination. The Englishmen who come here are more curious about thegreat new millionaires than about any one else, and they respect themmore. It's all very well. I don't complain of it. "

"And you would like a rich daughter-in-law, quite regardless, then?"

"Oh, not quite so bad as that, Tom, " said his father. "A little youth, a little beauty, a little good sense and pretty behaviour--one mustn'tobject to those things; and they go just as often with money as withoutit. And I suppose I should like her people to be rather grammatical. "

"It seems to me that you're exacting, sir, " said the son. "How can youexpect people who have been strictly devoted to business to begrammatical? Isn't that rather too much?"

"Perhaps it is. Perhaps you're right. But I understood your mother tosay that those benefactors of hers, whom you met last summer, were verypassably grammatical. "

"The father isn't. "

The elder, who had been smoking with his profile toward his son, nowturned his face full upon him. "I didn't know you had seen him?"

"I hadn't until to-day, " said young Corey, with a little heightening ofhis colour. "But I was walking down street this afternoon, andhappened to look round at a new house some one was putting up, and Isaw the whole family in the window. It appears that Mr. Lapham isbuilding the house. "

The elder Corey knocked the ash of his cigarette into the holder at hiselbow. "I am more and more convinced, the longer I know you, Tom, thatwe are descended from Giles Corey. The gift of holding one's tongueseems to have skipped me, but you have it in full force. I can't sayjust how you would behave under peine forte et dure, but under ordinarypressure you are certainly able to keep your own counsel. Why didn'tyou mention this encounter at dinner? You weren't asked to plead to anaccusation of witchcraft. "

"No, not exactly, " said the young man. "But I didn't quite see my wayto speaking of it. We had a good many other things before us. "

"Yes, that's true. I suppose you wouldn't have mentioned it now if Ihadn't led up to it, would you?"

"I don't know, sir. It was rather on my mind to do so. Perhaps it wasI who led up to it. "

His father laughed. "Perhaps you did, Tom; perhaps you did. Yourmother would have known you were leading up to something, but I'llconfess that I didn't. What is it?"

"Nothing very definite. But do you know that in spite of his syntax Irather liked him?"

The father looked keenly at the son; but unless the boy's fullconfidence was offered, Corey was not the man to ask it. "Well?" wasall that he said. 

"I suppose that in a new country one gets to looking at people a littleout of our tradition; and I dare say that if I hadn't passed a winterin Texas I might have found Colonel Lapham rather too much. "

"You mean that there are worse things in Texas?"

"Not that exactly. I mean that I saw it wouldn't be quite fair to testhim by our standards. "

"This comes of the error which I have often deprecated, " said the elderCorey. "In fact I am always saying that the Bostonian ought never toleave Boston. Then he knows--and then only--that there can BE nostandard but ours. But we are constantly going away, and coming backwith our convictions shaken to their foundations. One man goes toEngland, and returns with the conception of a grander social life;another comes home from Germany with the notion of a more searchingintellectual activity; a fellow just back from Paris has the absurdestideas of art and literature; and you revert to us from the cowboys ofTexas, and tell us to our faces that we ought to try Papa Lapham by ajury of his peers. It ought to be stopped--it ought, really. TheBostonian who leaves Boston ought to be condemned to perpetual exile. "

The son suffered the father to reach his climax with smiling patience. When he asked finally, "What are the characteristics of Papa Laphamthat place him beyond our jurisdiction?" the younger Corey crossed hislong legs, and leaned forward to take one of his knees between hishands. 

"Well, sir, he bragged, rather. "

"Oh, I don't know that bragging should exempt him from the ordinaryprocesses. I've heard other people brag in Boston. "

"Ah, not just in that personal way--not about money. "

"No, that was certainly different. "

"I don't mean, " said the young fellow, with the scrupulosity whichpeople could not help observing and liking in him, "that it was morethan an indirect expression of satisfaction in the ability to spend. "

"No. I should be glad to express something of the kind myself, if thefacts would justify me. "

The son smiled tolerantly again. "But if he was enjoying his money inthat way, I didn't see why he shouldn't show his pleasure in it. Itmight have been vulgar, but it wasn't sordid. And I don't know that itwas vulgar. Perhaps his successful strokes of business were theromance of his life----"

The father interrupted with a laugh. "The girl must be uncommonlypretty. What did she seem to think of her father's brag?"

"There were two of them, " answered the son evasively. 

"Oh, two! And is the sister pretty too?"

"Not pretty, but rather interesting. She is like her mother. "

"Then the pretty one isn't the father's pet?"

"I can't say, sir. I don't believe, " added the young fellow, "that Ican make you see Colonel Lapham just as I did. He struck me as verysimple-hearted and rather wholesome. Of course he could be tiresome;we all can; and I suppose his range of ideas is limited. But he is aforce, and not a bad one. If he hasn't got over being surprised at theeffect of rubbing his lamp. "

"Oh, one could make out a case. I suppose you know what you are about, Tom. But remember that we are Essex County people, and that in savourwe are just a little beyond the salt of the earth. I will tell youplainly that I don't like the notion of a man who has rivalled the huesof nature in her wildest haunts with the tints of his mineral paint;but I don't say there are not worse men. He isn't to my taste, thoughhe might be ever so much to my conscience. "

"I suppose, " said the son, "that there is nothing really to be ashamedof in mineral paint. People go into all sorts of things. "

His father took his cigarette from his mouth and once more looked hisson full in the face. "Oh, is THAT it?"

"It has crossed my mind, " admitted the son. "I must do something. I've wasted time and money enough. I've seen much younger men allthrough the West and South-west taking care of themselves. I don'tthink I was particularly fit for anything out there, but I am ashamedto come back and live upon you, sir. "

His father shook his head with an ironical sigh. "Ah, we shall neverhave a real aristocracy while this plebeian reluctance to live upon aparent or a wife continues the animating spirit of our youth. Itstrikes at the root of the whole feudal system. I really think you oweme an apology, Tom. I supposed you wished to marry the girl's money, and here you are, basely seeking to go into business with her father. "

Young Corey laughed again like a son who perceives that his father is alittle antiquated, but keeps a filial faith in his wit. "I don't knowthat it's quite so bad as that; but the thing had certainly crossed mymind. I don't know how it's to be approached, and I don't know thatit's at all possible. But I confess that I 'took to' Colonel Laphamfrom the moment I saw him. He looked as if he 'meant business, ' and Imean business too. "

The father smoked thoughtfully. "Of course people do go into all sortsof things, as you say, and I don't know that one thing is more ignoblethan another, if it's decent and large enough. In my time you wouldhave gone into the China trade or the India trade--though I didn't; anda little later cotton would have been your manifest destiny--though itwasn't mine; but now a man may do almost anything. The real-estatebusiness is pretty full. Yes, if you have a deep inward vocation forit, I don't see why mineral paint shouldn't do. I fancy it's easyenough approaching the matter. We will invite Papa Lapham to dinner, and talk it over with him. "

"Oh, I don't think that would be exactly the way, sir, " said the son, smiling at his father's patrician unworldliness. 

"No? Why not?"

"I'm afraid it would be a bad start. I don't think it would strike himas business-like. "

"I don't see why he should be punctilious, if we're not. "

"Ah, we might say that if he were making the advances. "

"Well, perhaps you are right, Tom. What is your idea?"

"I haven't a very clear one. It seems to me I ought to get somebusiness friend of ours, whose judgment he would respect, to speak agood word for me. "

"Give you a character?"

"Yes. And of course I must go to Colonel Lapham. My notion would be toinquire pretty thoroughly about him, and then, if I liked the look ofthings, to go right down to Republic Street and let him see what hecould do with me, if anything. "

"That sounds tremendously practical to me, Tom, though it may be justthe wrong way. When are you going down to Mount Desert?"

"To-morrow, I think, sir, " said the young man. "I shall turn it overin my mind while I'm off. "

The father rose, showing something more than his son's height, with avery slight stoop, which the son's figure had not. "Well, " he said, whimsically, "I admire your spirit, and I don't deny that it isjustified by necessity. It's a consolation to think that while I'vebeen spending and enjoying, I have been preparing the noblest futurefor you--a future of industry and self-reliance. You never could draw, but this scheme of going into the mineral-paint business shows that youhave inherited something of my feeling for colour. "

The son laughed once more, and waiting till his father was well on hisway upstairs, turned out the gas and then hurried after him andpreceded him into his chamber. He glanced over it to see thateverything was there, to his father's hand. Then he said, "Good night, sir, " and the elder responded, "Good night, my son, " and the son wentto his own room. 

Over the mantel in the elder Corey's room hung a portrait which he hadpainted of his own father, and now he stood a moment and looked at thisas if struck by something novel in it. The resemblance between his sonand the old India merchant, who had followed the trade from Salem toBoston when the larger city drew it away from the smaller, must havebeen what struck him. Grandfather and grandson had both the Roman nosewhich appears to have flourished chiefly at the formative period of therepublic, and which occurs more rarely in the descendants of theconscript fathers, though it still characterises the profiles of a goodmany Boston ladies. Bromfield Corey had not inherited it, and he hadmade his straight nose his defence when the old merchant accused him ofa want of energy. He said, "What could a man do whose unnatural fatherhad left his own nose away from him?" This amused but did not satisfythe merchant. "You must do something, " he said; "and it's for you tochoose. If you don't like the India trade, go into something else. Or, take up law or medicine. No Corey yet ever proposed to donothing. " "Ah, then, it's quite time one of us made a beginning, " urgedthe man who was then young, and who was now old, looking into thesomewhat fierce eyes of his father's portrait. He had inherited aslittle of the fierceness as of the nose, and there was nothingpredatory in his son either, though the aquiline beak had come down tohim in such force. Bromfield Corey liked his son Tom for thegentleness which tempered his energy. 

"Well let us compromise, " he seemed to be saying to his father'sportrait. "I will travel. " "Travel? How long?" the keen eyes demanded. "Oh, indefinitely. I won't be hard with you, father. " He could see theeyes soften, and the smile of yielding come over his father's face; themerchant could not resist a son who was so much like his dead mother. There was some vague understanding between them that Bromfield Coreywas to come back and go into business after a time, but he never didso. He travelled about over Europe, and travelled handsomely, frequenting good society everywhere, and getting himself presented atseveral courts, at a period when it was a distinction to do so. He hadalways sketched, and with his father's leave he fixed himself at Rome, where he remained studying art and rounding the being inherited fromhis Yankee progenitors, till there was very little left of theancestral angularities. After ten years he came home and painted thatportrait of his father. It was very good, if a little amateurish, andhe might have made himself a name as a painter of portraits if he hadnot had so much money. But he had plenty of money, though by this timehe was married and beginning to have a family. It was absurd for himto paint portraits for pay, and ridiculous to paint them for nothing;so he did not paint them at all. He continued a dilettante, neverquite abandoning his art, but working at it fitfully, and talking moreabout it than working at it. He had his theory of Titian's method; andnow and then a Bostonian insisted upon buying a picture of him. Aftera while he hung it more and more inconspicuously, and saidapologetically, "Oh yes! that's one of Bromfield Corey's things. Ithas nice qualities, but it's amateurish. "

In process of time the money seemed less abundant. There wereshrinkages of one kind and another, and living had grown much moreexpensive and luxurious. For many years he talked about going back toRome, but he never went, and his children grew up in the usual way. Before he knew it his son had him out to his class-day spread atHarvard, and then he had his son on his hands. The son made variousunsuccessful provisions for himself, and still continued upon hisfather's hands, to their common dissatisfaction, though it was chieflythe younger who repined. He had the Roman nose and the energy withoutthe opportunity, and at one of the reversions his father said to him, "You ought not to have that nose, Tom; then you would do very well. You would go and travel, as I did. "

LAPHAM and his wife continued talking after he had quelled thedisturbance in his daughters' room overhead; and their talk was notaltogether of the new house. 

"I tell you, " he said, "if I had that fellow in the business with me Iwould make a man of him. "

"Well, Silas Lapham, " returned his wife, "I do believe you've gotmineral paint on the brain. Do you suppose a fellow like young Corey, brought up the way he's been, would touch mineral paint with a ten-footpole?"

"Why not?" haughtily asked the Colonel. 

"Well, if you don't know already, there's no use trying to tell you. "

VI. 

THE Coreys had always had a house at Nahant, but after letting it for aseason or two they found they could get on without it, and sold it atthe son's instance, who foresaw that if things went on as they weregoing, the family would be straitened to the point of changing theirmode of life altogether. They began to be of the people of whom it wassaid that they stayed in town very late; and when the ladies did goaway, it was for a brief summering in this place and that. The fatherremained at home altogether; and the son joined them in the intervalsof his enterprises, which occurred only too often. 

At Bar Harbour, where he now went to find them, after his winter inTexas, he confessed to his mother that there seemed no very goodopening there for him. He might do as well as Loring Stanton, but hedoubted if Stanton was doing very well. Then he mentioned the newproject which he had been thinking over. She did not deny that therewas something in it, but she could not think of any young man who hadgone into such a business as that, and it appeared to her that he mightas well go into a patent medicine or a stove-polish. 

"There was one of his hideous advertisements, " she said, "painted on areef that we saw as we came down. "

Corey smiled. "Well, I suppose, if it was in a good state ofpreservation, that is proof positive of the efficacy of the paint onthe hulls of vessels. "

"It's very distasteful to me, Tom, " said his mother; and if there wassomething else in her mind, she did not speak more plainly of it thanto add: "It's not only the kind of business, but the kind of people youwould be mixed up with. "

"I thought you didn't find them so very bad, " suggested Corey. 

"I hadn't seen them in Nankeen Square then. "

"You can see them on the water side of Beacon Street when you go back. "

Then he told of his encounter with the Lapham family in their newhouse. At the end his mother merely said, "It is getting very commondown there, " and she did not try to oppose anything further to hisscheme. 

The young man went to see Colonel Lapham shortly after his return toBoston. He paid his visit at Lapham's office, and if he had studiedsimplicity in his summer dress he could not have presented himself in afigure more to the mind of a practical man. His hands and neck stillkept the brown of the Texan suns and winds, and he looked asbusiness-like as Lapham himself. 

He spoke up promptly and briskly in the outer office, and caused thepretty girl to look away from her copying at him. "Is Mr. Lapham in?"he asked; and after that moment for reflection which an array ofbook-keepers so addressed likes to give the inquirer, a head was liftedfrom a ledger and nodded toward the inner office. 

Lapham had recognised the voice, and he was standing, in considerableperplexity, to receive Corey, when the young man opened his paintedglass door. It was a hot afternoon, and Lapham was in his shirtsleeves. Scarcely a trace of the boastful hospitality with which hehad welcomed Corey to his house a few days before lingered in hispresent address. He looked at the young man's face, as if he expectedhim to despatch whatever unimaginable affair he had come upon. 

"Won't you sit down? How are you? You'll excuse me, " he added, in briefallusion to the shirt-sleeves. "I'm about roasted. "

Corey laughed. "I wish you'd let me take off MY coat. "

"Why, TAKE it off!" cried the Colonel, with instant pleasure. There issomething in human nature which causes the man in his shirt-sleeves towish all other men to appear in the same deshabille. 

"I will, if you ask me after I've talked with you two minutes, " saidthe young fellow, companionably pulling up the chair offered him towardthe desk where Lapham had again seated himself. "But perhaps youhaven't got two minutes to give me?"

"Oh yes, I have, " said the Colonel. "I was just going to knock off. Ican give you twenty, and then I shall have fifteen minutes to catch theboat. "

"All right, " said Corey. "I want you to take me into the mineral paintbusiness. "

The Colonel sat dumb. He twisted his thick neck, and looked round atthe door to see if it was shut. He would not have liked to have any ofthose fellows outside hear him, but there is no saying what sum ofmoney he would not have given if his wife had been there to hear whatCorey had just said. 

"I suppose, " continued the young man, "I could have got several peoplewhose names you know to back my industry and sobriety, and say a wordfor my business capacity. But I thought I wouldn't trouble anybody forcertificates till I found whether there was a chance, or the ghost ofone, of your wanting me. So I came straight to you. "

Lapham gathered himself together as well as he could. He had not yetforgiven Corey for Mrs. Lapham's insinuation that he would feel himselftoo good for the mineral paint business; and though he was dispersed bythat astounding shot at first, he was not going to let any one evenhypothetically despise his paint with impunity. "How do you think I amgoing to take you on?" They took on hands at the works; and Lapham putit as if Corey were a hand coming to him for employment. Whether hesatisfied himself by this or not, he reddened a little after he hadsaid it. 

Corey answered, ignorant of the offence: "I haven't a very clear idea, I'm afraid; but I've been looking a little into the matter from theoutside. "

"I hope you hain't been paying any attention to that fellow's stuff inthe Events?" Lapham interrupted. Since Bartley's interview hadappeared, Lapham had regarded it with very mixed feelings. At first itgave him a glow of secret pleasure, blended with doubt as to how hiswife would like the use Bartley had made of her in it. But she had notseemed to notice it much, and Lapham had experienced the gratitude ofthe man who escapes. Then his girls had begun to make fun of it; andthough he did not mind Penelope's jokes much, he did not like to seethat Irene's gentility was wounded. Business friends met him with thekind of knowing smile about it that implied their sense of thefraudulent character of its praise--the smile of men who had been thereand who knew how it was themselves. Lapham had his misgivings as tohow his clerks and underlings looked at it; he treated them withstately severity for a while after it came out, and he ended by feelingrather sore about it. He took it for granted that everybody had readit. 

"I don't know what you mean, " replied Corey, "I don't see the Eventsregularly. "

"Oh, it was nothing. They sent a fellow down here to interview me, andhe got everything about as twisted as he could. "

"I believe they always do, " said Corey. "I hadn't seen it. Perhaps itcame out before I got home. "

"Perhaps it did. "

"My notion of making myself useful to you was based on a hint I gotfrom one of your own circulars. "

Lapham was proud of those circulars; he thought they read very well. "What was that?"

"I could put a little capital into the business, " said Corey, with thetentative accent of a man who chances a thing. "I've got a littlemoney, but I didn't imagine you cared for anything of that kind. "

"No, sir, I don't, " returned the Colonel bluntly. "I've had onepartner, and one's enough. "

"Yes, " assented the young man, who doubtless had his own ideas as toeventualities--or perhaps rather had the vague hopes of youth. "Ididn't come to propose a partnership. But I see that you areintroducing your paint into the foreign markets, and there I reallythought I might be of use to you, and to myself too. "

"How?" asked the Colonel scantly. 

"Well, I know two or three languages pretty well. I know French, and Iknow German, and I've got a pretty fair sprinkling of Spanish. "

"You mean that you can talk them?" asked the Colonel, with the mingledawe and slight that such a man feels for such accomplishments. "Yes;and I can write an intelligible letter in either of them. "

Lapham rubbed his nose. "It's easy enough to get all the letters wewant translated. "

"Well, " pursued Corey, not showing his discouragement if he felt any, "I know the countries where you want to introduce this paint of yours. I've been there. I've been in Germany and France and I've been inSouth America and Mexico; I've been in Italy, of course. I believe Icould go to any of those countries and place it to advantage. "

Lapham had listened with a trace of persuasion in his face, but now heshook his head. 

"It's placing itself as fast as there's any call for it. It wouldn'tpay us to send anybody out to look after it. Your salary and expenseswould eat up about all we should make on it. "

"Yes, " returned the young man intrepidly, "if you had to pay me anysalary and expenses. "

"You don't propose to work for nothing?"

"I propose to work for a commission. " The Colonel was beginning toshake his head again, but Corey hurried on. "I haven't come to youwithout making some inquiries about the paint, and I know how it standswith those who know best. I believe in it. "

Lapham lifted his head and looked at the young man, deeply moved. 

"It's the best paint in God's universe, " he said with the solemnity ofprayer. 

"It's the best in the market, " said Corey; and he repeated, "I believein it. "

"You believe in it, " began the Colonel, and then he stopped. If therehad really been any purchasing power in money, a year's income wouldhave bought Mrs. Lapham's instant presence. He warmed and softened tothe young man in every way, not only because he must do so to any onewho believed in his paint, but because he had done this innocent personthe wrong of listening to a defamation of his instinct and good sense, and had been willing to see him suffer for a purely supposititiousoffence. 

Corey rose. 

"You mustn't let me outstay my twenty minutes, " he said, taking out hiswatch. "I don't expect you to give a decided answer on the spot. Allthat I ask is that you'll consider my proposition. "

"Don't hurry, " said Lapham. "Sit still! I want to tell you about thispaint, " he added, in a voice husky with the feeling that his hearercould not divine. "I want to tell you ALL about it. "

"I could walk with you to the boat, " suggested the young man. 

"Never mind the boat! I can take the next one. Look here!" The Colonelpulled open a drawer, as Corey sat down again, and took out aphotograph of the locality of the mine. "Here's where we get it. Thisphotograph don't half do the place justice, " he said, as if theimperfect art had slighted the features of a beloved face. "It's oneof the sightliest places in the country, and here's the very spot "--hecovered it with his huge forefinger--"where my father found that paint, more than forty--years--ago. Yes, sir!"

He went on, and told the story in unsparing detail, while his chancefor the boat passed unheeded, and the clerks in the outer office hungup their linen office coats and put on their seersucker or flannelstreet coats. The young lady went too, and nobody was left but theporter, who made from time to time a noisy demonstration of fastening adistant blind, or putting something in place. At last the Colonelroused himself from the autobiographical delight of the history of hispaint. "Well, sir, that's the story. "

"It's an interesting story, " said Corey, with a long breath, as theyrose together, and Lapham put on his coat. 

"That's what it is, " said the Colonel. "Well!" he added, "I don't seebut what we've got to have another talk about this thing. It's asurprise to me, and I don't see exactly how you're going to make itpay. "

"I'm willing to take the chances, " answered Corey. "As I said, Ibelieve in it. I should try South America first. I should try Chili. "

"Look here!" said Lapham, with his watch in his hand. "I like to getthings over. We've just got time for the six o'clock boat. Why don'tyou come down with me to Nantasket? I can give you a bed as well asnot. And then we can finish up. "

The impatience of youth in Corey responded to the impatience oftemperament in his elder. "Why, I don't see why I shouldn't, " heallowed himself to say. "I confess I should like to have it finishedup myself, if it could be finished up in the right way. "

"Well, we'll see. Dennis!" Lapham called to the remote porter, and theman came. "Want to send any word home?" he asked Corey. 

"No; my father and I go and come as we like, without keeping account ofeach other. If I don't come home, he knows that I'm not there. That'sall. "

"Well, that's convenient. You'll find you can't do that when you'remarried. Never mind, Dennis, " said the Colonel. 

He had time to buy two newspapers on the wharf before he jumped onboard the steam-boat with Corey. "Just made it, " he said; "and that'swhat I like to do. I can't stand it to be aboard much more than aminute before she shoves out. " He gave one of the newspapers to Coreyas he spoke, and set him the example of catching up a camp-stool ontheir way to that point on the boat which his experience had taught himwas the best. He opened his paper at once and began to run over itsnews, while the young man watched the spectacular recession of thecity, and was vaguely conscious of the people about him, and of the gaylife of the water round the boat. The air freshened; the craft thinnedin number; they met larger sail, lagging slowly inward in the afternoonlight; the islands of the bay waxed and waned as the steamer approachedand left them behind. 

"I hate to see them stirring up those Southern fellows again, " said theColonel, speaking into the paper on his lap. "Seems to me it's time tolet those old issues go. "

"Yes, " said the young man. "What are they doing now?"

"Oh, stirring up the Confederate brigadiers in Congress. I don't likeit. Seems to me, if our party hain't got any other stock-in-trade, webetter shut up shop altogether. " Lapham went on, as he scanned hisnewspaper, to give his ideas of public questions, in a fragmentary way, while Corey listened patiently, and waited for him to come back tobusiness. He folded up his paper at last, and stuffed it into his coatpocket. "There's one thing I always make it a rule to do, " he said, "and that is to give my mind a complete rest from business while I'mgoing down on the boat. I like to get the fresh air all through me, soul and body. I believe a man can give his mind a rest, just the sameas he can give his legs a rest, or his back. All he's got to do is touse his will-power. Why, I suppose, if I hadn't adopted some such rule, with the strain I've had on me for the last ten years, I should 'a'been a dead man long ago. That's the reason I like a horse. You'vegot to give your mind to the horse; you can't help it, unless you wantto break your neck; but a boat's different, and there you got to useyour will-power. You got to take your mind right up and put it whereyou want it. I make it a rule to read the paper on the boat----Holdon!" he interrupted himself to prevent Corey from paying his fare tothe man who had come round for it. "I've got tickets. And when I getthrough the paper, I try to get somebody to talk to, or I watch thepeople. It's an astonishing thing to me where they all come from. I've been riding up and down on these boats for six or seven years, andI don't know but very few of the faces I see on board. Seems to be aperfectly fresh lot every time. Well, of course! Town's full ofstrangers in the summer season, anyway, and folks keep coming down fromthe country. They think it's a great thing to get down to the beach, and they've all heard of the electric light on the water, and they wantto see it. But you take faces now! The astonishing thing to me is notwhat a face tells, but what it don't tell. When you think of what aman is, or a woman is, and what most of 'em have been through beforethey get to be thirty, it seems as if their experience would burn rightthrough. But it don't. I like to watch the couples, and try to makeout which are engaged, or going to be, and which are married, or betterbe. But half the time I can't make any sort of guess. Of course, where they're young and kittenish, you can tell; but where they'reanyways on, you can't. Heigh?"

"Yes, I think you're right, " said Corey, not perfectly reconciled tophilosophy in the place of business, but accepting it as he must. 

"Well, " said the Colonel, "I don't suppose it was meant we should knowwhat was in each other's minds. It would take a man out of his ownhands. As long as he's in his own hands, there's some hopes of hisdoing something with himself; but if a fellow has been found out--evenif he hasn't been found out to be so very bad--it's pretty much all upwith him. No, sir. I don't want to know people through and through. "

The greater part of the crowd on board--and, of course, the boat wascrowded--looked as if they might not only be easily but safely known. There was little style and no distinction among them; they were peoplewho were going down to the beach for the fun or the relief of it, andwere able to afford it. In face they were commonplace, with nothingbut the American poetry of vivid purpose to light them up, where theydid not wholly lack fire. But they were nearly all shrewd andfriendly-looking, with an apparent readiness for the humorous intimacynative to us all. The women were dandified in dress, according totheir means and taste, and the men differed from each other in degreesof indifference to it. To a straw-hatted population, such as ours isin summer, no sort of personal dignity is possible. We have not eventhe power over observers which comes from the fantasticality of anEnglishman when he discards the conventional dress. In our straw hatsand our serge or flannel sacks we are no more imposing than a crowd ofboys. 

"Some day, " said Lapham, rising as the boat drew near the wharf of thefinal landing, "there's going to be an awful accident on these boats. Just look at that jam. "

He meant the people thickly packed on the pier, and under strongrestraint of locks and gates, to prevent them from rushing on board theboat and possessing her for the return trip before she had landed herNantasket passengers. 

"Overload 'em every time, " he continued, with a sort of dry, impersonalconcern at the impending calamity, as if it could not possibly includehim. "They take about twice as many as they ought to carry, and aboutten times as many as they could save if anything happened. Yes, sir, it's bound to come. Hello! There's my girl!" He took out his foldednewspaper and waved it toward a group of phaetons and barouches drawnup on the pier a little apart from the pack of people, and a lady inone of them answered with a flourish of her parasol. 

When he had made his way with his guest through the crowd, she began tospeak to her father before she noticed Corey. "Well, Colonel, you'veimproved your last chance. We've been coming to every boat since fouro'clock, --or Jerry has, --and I told mother that I would come myselfonce, and see if I couldn't fetch you; and if I failed, you could walknext time. You're getting perfectly spoiled. "

The Colonel enjoyed letting her scold him to the end before he said, with a twinkle of pride in his guest and satisfaction in her probablybeing able to hold her own against any discomfiture, "I've brought Mr. Corey down for the night with me, and I was showing him things all theway, and it took time. "

The young fellow was at the side of the open beach-wagon, making aquick bow, and Penelope Lapham was cozily drawling, "Oh, how do you do, Mr. Corey?" before the Colonel had finished his explanation. 

"Get right in there, alongside of Miss Lapham, Mr. Corey, " he said, pulling himself up into the place beside the driver. "No, no, " he hadadded quickly, at some signs of polite protest in the young man, "Idon't give up the best place to anybody. Jerry, suppose you let mehave hold of the leathers a minute. "

This was his way of taking the reins from the driver; and in half thetime he specified, he had skilfully turned the vehicle on the pier, among the crooked lines and groups of foot-passengers, and was spinningup the road toward the stretch of verandaed hotels and restaurants inthe sand along the shore. "Pretty gay down here, " he said, indicatingall this with a turn of his whip, as he left it behind him. "But I'vegot about sick of hotels; and this summer I made up my mind that I'dtake a cottage. Well, Pen, how are the folks?" He looked half-wayround for her answer, and with the eye thus brought to bear upon her hewas able to give her a wink of supreme content. The Colonel, with nosort of ulterior design, and nothing but his triumph over Mrs. Laphamdefinitely in his mind, was feeling, as he would have said, about right. 

The girl smiled a daughter's amusement at her father's boyishness. "Idon't think there's much change since morning. Did Irene have aheadache when you left?"

"No, " said the Colonel. 

"Well, then, there's that to report. "

"Pshaw!" said the Colonel with vexation in his tone. 

"I'm sorry Miss Irene isn't well, " said Corey politely. 

"I think she must have got it from walking too long on the beach. Theair is so cool here that you forget how hot the sun is. "

"Yes, that's true, " assented Corey. 

"A good night's rest will make it all right, " suggested the Colonel, without looking round. "But you girls have got to look out. "

"If you're fond of walking, " said Corey, "I suppose you find the beacha temptation. "

"Oh, it isn't so much that, " returned the girl. "You keep walking onand on because it's so smooth and straight before you. We've been hereso often that we know it all by heart--just how it looks at high tide, and how it looks at low tide, and how it looks after a storm. We're aswell acquainted with the crabs and stranded jelly-fish as we are withthe children digging in the sand and the people sitting underumbrellas. I think they're always the same, all of them. "

The Colonel left the talk to the young people. When he spoke next itwas to say, "Well, here we are!" and he turned from the highway anddrove up in front of a brown cottage with a vermilion roof, and a groupof geraniums clutching the rock that cropped up in the loop formed bythe road. It was treeless and bare all round, and the ocean, unnecessarily vast, weltered away a little more than a stone's-castfrom the cottage. A hospitable smell of supper filled the air, andMrs. Lapham was on the veranda, with that demand in her eyes for herbelated husband's excuses, which she was obliged to check on her tongueat sight of Corey. 

VII. 

THE exultant Colonel swung himself lightly down from his seat. "I'vebrought Mr. Corey with me, " he nonchalantly explained. 

Mrs. Lapham made their guest welcome, and the Colonel showed him to hisroom, briefly assuring himself that there was nothing wanting there. Then he went to wash his own hands, carelessly ignoring the eagernesswith which his wife pursued him to their chamber. 

"What gave Irene a headache?" he asked, making himself a fine latherfor his hairy paws. 

"Never you mind Irene, " promptly retorted his wife. "How came he tocome? Did you press him? If you DID, I'll never forgive you, Silas!"

The Colonel laughed, and his wife shook him by the shoulder to make himlaugh lower. "'Sh!" she whispered. "Do you want him to hear EVERYthing? DID you urge him?"

The Colonel laughed the more. He was going to get all the good out ofthis. "No, I didn't urge him. Seemed to want to come. "

"I don't believe it. Where did you meet him?"

"At the office. "

"What office?"

"Mine. "

"Nonsense! What was he doing there?"

"Oh, nothing much. "

"What did he come for?" "Come for? Oh! he SAID he wanted to go into themineral paint business. "

Mrs. Lapham dropped into a chair, and watched his bulk shaken withsmothered laughter. "Silas Lapham, " she gasped, "if you try to get offany more of those things on me----"

The Colonel applied himself to the towel. "Had a notion he could workit in South America. I don't know what he's up to. "

"Never mind!" cried his wife. "I'll get even with you YET. "

"So I told him he had better come down and talk it over, " continued theColonel, in well-affected simplicity. "I knew he wouldn't touch itwith a ten-foot pole. "

"Go on!" threatened Mrs. Lapham. 

"Right thing to do, wa'n't it?"

A tap was heard at the door, and Mrs. Lapham answered it. A maidannounced supper. "Very well, " she said, "come to tea now. But I'llmake you pay for this, Silas. "

Penelope had gone to her sister's room as soon as she entered the house. 

"Is your head any better, 'Rene?" she asked. 

"Yes, a little, " came a voice from the pillows. "But I shall not cometo tea. I don't want anything. If I keep still, I shall be all rightby morning. "

"Well, I'm sorry, " said the elder sister. "He's come down with father. "

"He hasn't! Who?" cried Irene, starting up in simultaneous denial anddemand. 

"Oh, well, if you say he hasn't, what's the use of my telling you who?"

"Oh, how can you treat me so!" moaned the sufferer. "What do you mean, Pen?"

"I guess I'd better not tell you, " said Penelope, watching her like acat playing with a mouse. "If you're not coming to tea, it would justexcite you for nothing. "

The mouse moaned and writhed upon the bed. 

"Oh, I wouldn't treat YOU so!"

The cat seated herself across the room, and asked quietly--

"Well, what could you do if it WAS Mr. Corey? You couldn't come to tea, you say. But HE'LL excuse you. I've told him you had a headache. Why, of course you can't come! It would be too barefaced But youneedn't be troubled, Irene; I'll do my best to make the time passpleasantly for him. " Here the cat gave a low titter, and the mousegirded itself up with a momentary courage and self-respect. 

"I should think you would be ashamed to come here and tease me so. "

"I don't see why you shouldn't believe me, " argued Penelope. "Whyshouldn't he come down with father, if father asked him? and he'd besure to if he thought of it. I don't see any p'ints about that frogthat's any better than any other frog. "

The sense of her sister's helplessness was too much for the tease; shebroke down in a fit of smothered laughter, which convinced her victimthat it was nothing but an ill-timed joke. 

"Well, Pen, I wouldn't use you so, " she whimpered. 

Penelope threw herself on the bed beside her. 

"Oh, poor Irene! He IS here. It's a solemn fact. " And she caressed andsoothed her sister, while she choked with laughter. "You must get upand come out. I don't know what brought him here, but here he is. "

"It's too late now, " said Irene desolately. Then she added, with awilder despair: "What a fool I was to take that walk!"

"Well, " coaxed her sister, "come out and get some tea. The tea will doyou good. "

"No, no; I can't come. But send me a cup here. "

"Yes, and then perhaps you can see him later in the evening. "

"I shall not see him at all. "

An hour after Penelope came back to her sister's room and found herbefore her glass. "You might as well have kept still, and been well bymorning, 'Rene, " she said. "As soon as we were done father said, 'Well, Mr. Corey and I have got to talk over a little matter ofbusiness, and we'll excuse you, ladies. ' He looked at mother in a waythat I guess was pretty hard to bear. 'Rene, you ought to have heardthe Colonel swelling at supper. It would have made you feel that allhe said the other day was nothing. "

Mrs. Lapham suddenly opened the door. 

"Now, see here, Pen, " she said, as she closed it behind her, "I've hadjust as much as I can stand from your father, and if you don't tell methis instant what it all means----"

She left the consequences to imagination, and Penelope replied with hermock soberness--

"Well, the Colonel does seem to be on his high horse, ma'am. But youmustn't ask me what his business with Mr. Corey is, for I don't know. All that I know is that I met them at the landing, and that theyconversed all the way down--on literary topics. "

"Nonsense! What do you think it is?"

"Well, if you want my candid opinion, I think this talk about businessis nothing but a blind. It seems a pity Irene shouldn't have been upto receive him, " she added. 

Irene cast a mute look of imploring at her mother, who was too muchpreoccupied to afford her the protection it asked. 

"Your father said he wanted to go into the business with him. "

Irene's look changed to a stare of astonishment and mystification, butPenelope preserved her imperturbability. 

"Well, it's a lucrative business, I believe. "

"Well, I don't believe a word of it!" cried Mrs. Lapham. "And so Itold your father. "

"Did it seem to convince him?" inquired Penelope. 

Her mother did not reply. "I know one thing, " she said. "He's got totell me every word, or there'll be no sleep for him THIS night. "

"Well, ma'am, " said Penelope, breaking down in one of her queer laughs, "I shouldn't be a bit surprised if you were right. "

"Go on and dress, Irene, " ordered her mother, "and then you and Pencome out into the parlour. They can have just two hours for business, and then we must all be there to receive him. You haven't got headacheenough to hurt you. "

"Oh, it's all gone now, " said the girl. 

At the end of the limit she had given the Colonel, Mrs. Lapham lookedinto the dining-room, which she found blue with his smoke. 

"I think you gentlemen will find the parlour pleasanter now, and we cangive it up to you. "

"Oh no, you needn't, " said her husband. "We've got about through. "Corey was already standing, and Lapham rose too. "I guess we can jointhe ladies now. We can leave that little point till to-morrow. "

Both of the young ladies were in the parlour when Corey entered withtheir father, and both were frankly indifferent to the few books andthe many newspapers scattered about on the table where the large lampwas placed. But after Corey had greeted Irene he glanced at the novelunder his eye, and said, in the dearth that sometimes befalls people atsuch times: "I see you're reading Middlemarch. Do you like GeorgeEliot?"

"Who?" asked the girl. 

Penelope interposed. "I don't believe Irene's read it yet. I've justgot it out of the library; I heard so much talk about it. I wish shewould let you find out a little about the people for yourself, " sheadded. But here her father struck in--

"I can't get the time for books. It's as much as I can do to keep upwith the newspapers; and when night comes, I'm tired, and I'd rather goout to the theatre, or a lecture, if they've got a good stereopticon togive you views of the places. But I guess we all like a play betterthan 'most anything else. I want something that'll make me laugh. Idon't believe in tragedy. I think there's enough of that in real lifewithout putting it on the stage. Seen 'Joshua Whitcomb'?"

The whole family joined in the discussion, and it appeared that theyall had their opinions of the plays and actors. Mrs. Lapham broughtthe talk back to literature. "I guess Penelope does most of ourreading. "

"Now, mother, you're not going to put it all on me!" said the girl, incomic protest. 

Her mother laughed, and then added, with a sigh: "I used to like to gethold of a good book when I was a girl; but we weren't allowed to readmany novels in those days. My mother called them all LIES. And Iguess she wasn't so very far wrong about some of them. "

"They're certainly fictions, " said Corey, smiling. 

"Well, we do buy a good many books, first and last, " said the Colonel, who probably had in mind the costly volumes which they presented to oneanother on birthdays and holidays. "But I get about all the reading Iwant in the newspapers. And when the girls want a novel, I tell 'em toget it out of the library. That's what the library's for. Phew!" hepanted, blowing away the whole unprofitable subject. "How close youwomen-folks like to keep a room! You go down to the sea-side or up tothe mountains for a change of air, and then you cork yourselves into aroom so tight you don't have any air at all. Here! You girls get onyour bonnets, and go and show Mr. Corey the view of the hotels from therocks. "

Corey said that he should be delighted. The girls exchanged looks witheach other, and then with their mother. Irene curved her pretty chinin comment upon her father's incorrigibility, and Penelope made a drollmouth, but the Colonel remained serenely content with his finesse. "Igot 'em out of the way, " he said, as soon as they were gone, and beforehis wife had time to fall upon him, "because I've got through my talkwith him, and now I want to talk with YOU. It's just as I said, Persis; he wants to go into the business with me. "

"It's lucky for you, " said his wife, meaning that now he would not bemade to suffer for attempting to hoax her. But she was too intenselyinterested to pursue that matter further. "What in the world do yousuppose he means by it?"

"Well, I should judge by his talk that he had been trying a good manydifferent things since he left college, and he hain't found just thething he likes--or the thing that likes him. It ain't so easy. Andnow he's got an idea that he can take hold of the paint and push it inother countries--push it in Mexico and push it in South America. He'sa splendid Spanish scholar, "--this was Lapham's version of Corey'smodest claim to a smattering of the language, --"and he's been among thenatives enough to know their ways. And he believes in the paint, "added the Colonel. 

"I guess he believes in something else besides the paint, " said Mrs. Lapham. 

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Silas Lapham, if you can't see NOW that he's after Irene, Idon't know what ever CAN open your eyes. That's all. "

The Colonel pretended to give the idea silent consideration, as if ithad not occurred to him before. "Well, then, all I've got to say is, that he's going a good way round. I don't say you're wrong, but ifit's Irene, I don't see why he should want to go off to South Americato get her. And that's what he proposes to do. I guess there's somepaint about it too, Persis. He says he believes in it, "--the Coloneldevoutly lowered his voice, --"and he's willing to take the agency onhis own account down there, and run it for a commission on what he cansell. "

"Of course! He isn't going to take hold of it any way so as to feelbeholden to you. He's got too much pride for that. "

"He ain't going to take hold of it at all, if he don't mean paint inthe first place and Irene afterward. I don't object to him, as I know, either way, but the two things won't mix; and I don't propose he shallpull the wool over my eyes--or anybody else. But, as far as heardfrom, up to date, he means paint first, last, and all the time. At anyrate, I'm going to take him on that basis. He's got some pretty goodideas about it, and he's been stirred up by this talk, just now, aboutgetting our manufactures into the foreign markets. There's anoverstock in everything, and we've got to get rid of it, or we've gotto shut down till the home demand begins again. We've had two or threesuch flurries before now, and they didn't amount to much. They say wecan't extend our commerce under the high tariff system we've got now, because there ain't any sort of reciprocity on our side, --we want tohave the other fellows show all the reciprocity, --and the English havegot the advantage of us every time. I don't know whether it's so ornot; but I don't see why it should apply to my paint. Anyway, he wantsto try it, and I've about made up my mind to let him. Of course Iain't going to let him take all the risk. I believe in the paint TOO, and I shall pay his expenses anyway. "

"So you want another partner after all?" Mrs. Lapham could not forbearsaying. 

"Yes, if that's your idea of a partner. It isn't mine, " returned herhusband dryly. 

"Well, if you've made up your mind, Si, I suppose you're ready foradvice, " said Mrs. Lapham. 

The Colonel enjoyed this. "Yes, I am. What have you got to sayagainst it?"

"I don't know as I've got anything. I'm satisfied if you are. "

"Well?"

"When is he going to start for South America?"

"I shall take him into the office a while. He'll get off some time inthe winter. But he's got to know the business first. "

"Oh, indeed! Are you going to take him to board in the family?"

"What are you after, Persis?"

"Oh, nothing! I presume he will feel free to visit in the family, evenif he don't board with us. "

"I presume he will. "

"And if he don't use his privileges, do you think he'll be a fit personto manage your paint in South America?"

The Colonel reddened consciously. "I'm not taking him on that basis. "

"Oh yes, you are! You may pretend you ain't to yourself, but youmustn't pretend so to me. Because I know you. "

The Colonel laughed. "Pshaw!" he said. 

Mrs. Lapham continued: "I don't see any harm in hoping that he'll takea fancy to her. But if you really think it won't do to mix the twothings, I advise you not to take Mr. Corey into the business. It willdo all very well if he DOES take a fancy to her; but if he don't, youknow how you'll feel about it. And I know you well enough, Silas, toknow that you can't do him justice if that happens. And I don't thinkit's right you should take this step unless you're pretty sure. I cansee that you've set your heart on this thing. "

"I haven't set my heart on it at all, " protested Lapham. 

"And if you can't bring it about, you're going to feel unhappy overit, " pursued his wife, regardless of his protest. 

"Oh, very well, " he said. "If you know more about what's in my mindthan I do, there's no use arguing, as I can see. "

He got up, to carry off his consciousness, and sauntered out of thedoor on to his piazza. He could see the young people down on therocks, and his heart swelled in his breast. He had always said that hedid not care what a man's family was, but the presence of young Coreyas an applicant to him for employment, as his guest, as the possiblesuitor of his daughter, was one of the sweetest flavours that he hadyet tasted in his success. He knew who the Coreys were very well, and, in his simple, brutal way, he had long hated their name as a symbol ofsplendour which, unless he should live to see at least threegenerations of his descendants gilded with mineral paint, he could nothope to realise in his own. He was acquainted in a business way withthe tradition of old Phillips Corey, and he had heard a great manythings about the Corey who had spent his youth abroad and his father'smoney everywhere, and done nothing but say smart things. Lapham couldnot see the smartness of some of them which had been repeated to him. Once he had encountered the fellow, and it seemed to Lapham that thetall, slim, white-moustached man, with the slight stoop, was everythingthat was offensively aristocratic. He had bristled up aggressively atthe name when his wife told how she had made the acquaintance of thefellow's family the summer before, and he had treated the notion ofyoung Corey's caring for Irene with the contempt which such aridiculous superstition deserved. He had made up his mind about youngCorey beforehand; yet when he met him he felt an instant liking forhim, which he frankly acknowledged, and he had begun to assume theburden of his wife's superstition, of which she seemed now ready toaccuse him of being the inventor. 

Nothing had moved his thick imagination like this day's events sincethe girl who taught him spelling and grammar in the school atLumberville had said she would have him for her husband. 

The dark figures, stationary on the rocks, began to move, and he couldsee that they were coming toward the house. He went indoors, so as notto appear to have been watching them. 

VIII. 

A WEEK after she had parted with her son at Bar Harbour, Mrs. Coreysuddenly walked in upon her husband in their house in Boston. He wasat breakfast, and he gave her the patronising welcome with which thehusband who has been staying in town all summer receives his wife whenshe drops down upon him from the mountains or the sea-side. For alittle moment she feels herself strange in the house, and suffersherself to be treated like a guest, before envy of his comfort vexesher back into possession and authority. Mrs. Corey was a lady, and shedid not let her envy take the form of open reproach. 

"Well, Anna, you find me here in the luxury you left me to. How didyou leave the girls?"

"The girls were well, " said Mrs. Corey, looking absently at herhusband's brown velvet coat, in which he was so handsome. No man hadever grown grey more beautifully. His hair, while not remaining darkenough to form a theatrical contrast with his moustache, was yet someshades darker, and, in becoming a little thinner, it had become alittle more gracefully wavy. His skin had the pearly tint which thatof elderly men sometimes assumes, and the lines which time had tracedupon it were too delicate for the name of wrinkles. He had never hadany personal vanity, and there was no consciousness in his good looksnow. 

"I am glad of that. The boy I have with me, " he returned; "that is, when he IS with me. "

"Why, where is he?" demanded the mother. 

"Probably carousing with the boon Lapham somewhere. He left meyesterday afternoon to go and offer his allegiance to the Mineral PaintKing, and I haven't seen him since. "

"Bromfield!" cried Mrs. Corey. "Why didn't you stop him?"

"Well, my dear, I'm not sure that it isn't a very good thing. "

"A good thing? It's horrid!"

"No, I don't think so. It's decent. Tom had found out--withoutconsulting the landscape, which I believe proclaims it everywhere----"

"Hideous!"

"That it's really a good thing; and he thinks that he has some ideas inregard to its dissemination in the parts beyond seas. "

"Why shouldn't he go into something else?" lamented the mother. 

"I believe he has gone into nearly everything else and come out of it. So there is a chance of his coming out of this. But as I had nothingto suggest in place of it, I thought it best not to interfere. Infact, what good would my telling him that mineral paint was nasty havedone? I dare say YOU told him it was nasty. "

"Yes! I did. "

"And you see with what effect, though he values your opinion threetimes as much as he values mine. Perhaps you came up to tell him againthat it was nasty?"

"I feel very unhappy about it. He is throwing himself away. Yes, Ishould like to prevent it if I could!"

The father shook his head. 

"If Lapham hasn't prevented it, I fancy it's too late. But there maybe some hopes of Lapham. As for Tom's throwing himself away, I don'tknow. There's no question but he is one of the best fellows under thesun. He's tremendously energetic, and he has plenty of the kind ofsense which we call horse; but he isn't brilliant. No, Tom is notbrilliant. I don't think he would get on in a profession, and he'sinstinctively kept out of everything of the kind. But he has got to dosomething. What shall he do? He says mineral paint, and really I don'tsee why he shouldn't. If money is fairly and honestly earned, whyshould we pretend to care what it comes out of, when we don't reallycare? That superstition is exploded everywhere. "

"Oh, it isn't the paint alone, " said Mrs. Corey; and then sheperceptibly arrested herself, and made a diversion in continuing: "Iwish he had married some one. "

"With money?" suggested her husband. "From time to time I haveattempted Tom's corruption from that side, but I suspect Tom has aconscience against it, and I rather like him for it. I married forlove myself, " said Corey, looking across the table at his wife. 

She returned his look tolerantly, though she felt it right to say, "What nonsense!"

"Besides, " continued her husband, "if you come to money, there is thepaint princess. She will have plenty. "

"Ah, that's the worst of it, " sighed the mother. "I suppose I couldget on with the paint----"

"But not with the princess? I thought you said she was a very pretty, well-behaved girl?"

"She is very pretty, and she is well-behaved; but there is nothing ofher. She is insipid; she is very insipid. "

"But Tom seemed to like her flavour, such as it was?"

"How can I tell? We were under a terrible obligation to them, and Inaturally wished him to be polite to them. In fact, I asked him to beso. "

"And he was too polite. "

"I can't say that he was. But there is no doubt that the child isextremely pretty. "

"Tom says there are two of them. Perhaps they will neutralise eachother. "

"Yes, there is another daughter, " assented Mrs. Corey. "I don't seehow you can joke about such things, Bromfield, " she added. 

"Well, I don't either, my dear, to tell you the truth. My hardihoodsurprises me. Here is a son of mine whom I see reduced to making hisliving by a shrinkage in values. It's very odd, " interjected Corey, "that some values should have this peculiarity of shrinking. You neverhear of values in a picture shrinking; but rents, stocks, realestate--all those values shrink abominably. Perhaps it might be arguedthat one should put all his values into pictures; I've got a good manyof mine there. "

"Tom needn't earn his living, " said Mrs. Corey, refusing her husband'sjest. "There's still enough for all of us. "

"That is what I have sometimes urged upon Tom. I have proved to himthat with economy, and strict attention to business, he need do nothingas long as he lives. Of course he would be somewhat restricted, and itwould cramp the rest of us; but it is a world of sacrifices andcompromises. He couldn't agree with me, and he was not in the leastmoved by the example of persons of quality in Europe, which I allegedin support of the life of idleness. It appears that he wishes to dosomething--to do something for himself. I am afraid that Tom isselfish. "

Mrs. Corey smiled wanly. Thirty years before, she had married the richyoung painter in Rome, who said so much better things than hepainted--charming things, just the things to please the fancy of a girlwho was disposed to take life a little too seriously and practically. She saw him in a different light when she got him home to Boston; buthe had kept on saying the charming things, and he had not done muchelse. In fact, he had fulfilled the promise of his youth. It was agood trait in him that he was not actively but only passivelyextravagant. He was not adventurous with his money; his tastes were assimple as an Italian's; he had no expensive habits. In the process oftime he had grown to lead a more and more secluded life. It was hardto get him out anywhere, even to dinner. His patience with theirnarrowing circumstances had a pathos which she felt the more the moreshe came into charge of their joint life. At times it seemed too badthat the children and their education and pleasures should cost somuch. She knew, besides, that if it had not been for them she wouldhave gone back to Rome with him, and lived princely there for less thanit took to live respectably in Boston. 

"Tom hasn't consulted me, " continued his father, "but he has consultedother people. And he has arrived at the conclusion that mineral paintis a good thing to go into. He has found out all about it, and aboutits founder or inventor. It's quite impressive to hear him talk. Andif he must do something for himself, I don't see why his egotismshouldn't as well take that form as another. Combined with the paintprincess, it isn't so agreeable; but that's only a remote possibility, for which your principal ground is your motherly solicitude. But evenif it were probable and imminent, what could you do? The chiefconsolation that we American parents have in these matters is that wecan do nothing. If we were Europeans, even English, we should takesome cognisance of our children's love affairs, and in some measureteach their young affections how to shoot. But it is our custom toignore them until they have shot, and then they ignore us. We arealtogether too delicate to arrange the marriages of our children; andwhen they have arranged them we don't like to say anything, for fear weshould only make bad worse. The right way is for us to schoolourselves to indifference. That is what the young people have to doelsewhere, and that is the only logical result of our position here. It is absurd for us to have any feeling about what we don't interferewith. "

"Oh, people do interfere with their children's marriages very often, "said Mrs. Corey. 

"Yes, but only in a half-hearted way, so as not to make it disagreeablefor themselves if the marriages go on in spite of them, as they'repretty apt to do. Now, my idea is that I ought to cut Tom off with ashilling. That would be very simple, and it would be economical. Butyou would never consent, and Tom wouldn't mind it. "

"I think our whole conduct in regard to such things is wrong, " saidMrs. Corey. 

"Oh, very likely. But our whole civilisation is based upon it. Andwho is going to make a beginning? To which father in our acquaintanceshall I go and propose an alliance for Tom with his daughter? I shouldfeel like an ass. And will you go to some mother, and ask her sons inmarriage for our daughters? You would feel like a goose. No; the onlymotto for us is, Hands off altogether. "

"I shall certainly speak to Tom when the time comes, " said Mrs. Corey. 

"And I shall ask leave to be absent from your discomfiture, my dear, "answered her husband. 

The son returned that afternoon, and confessed his surprise at findinghis mother in Boston. He was so frank that she had not quite thecourage to confess in turn why she had come, but trumped up an excuse. 

"Well, mother, " he said promptly, "I have made an engagement with Mr. Lapham. "

"Have you, Tom?" she asked faintly. 

"Yes. For the present I am going to have charge of his foreigncorrespondence, and if I see my way to the advantage I expect to findin it, I am going out to manage that side of his business in SouthAmerica and Mexico. He's behaved very handsomely about it. He saysthat if it appears for our common interest, he shall pay me a salary aswell as a commission. I've talked with Uncle Jim, and he thinks it's agood opening. "

"Your Uncle Jim does?" queried Mrs. Corey in amaze. 

"Yes; I consulted him the whole way through, and I've acted on hisadvice. "

This seemed an incomprehensible treachery on her brother's part. 

"Yes; I thought you would like to have me. And besides, I couldn'tpossibly have gone to any one so well fitted to advise me. "

His mother said nothing. In fact, the mineral paint business, howeverpainful its interest, was, for the moment, superseded by a morepoignant anxiety. She began to feel her way cautiously toward this. 

"Have you been talking about your business with Mr. Lapham all night?"

"Well, pretty much, " said her son, with a guiltless laugh. "I went tosee him yesterday afternoon, after I had gone over the whole groundwith Uncle Jim, and Mr. Lapham asked me to go down with him and finishup. "

"Down?" repeated Mrs. Corey. "Yes, to Nantasket. He has a cottagedown there. "

"At Nantasket?" Mrs. Corey knitted her brows a little. "What in theworld can a cottage at Nantasket be like?"

"Oh, very much like a 'cottage' anywhere. It has the usual allowanceof red roof and veranda. There are the regulation rocks by the sea;and the big hotels on the beach about a mile off, flaring away withelectric lights and roman-candles at night. We didn't have them atNahant. "

"No, " said his mother. "Is Mrs. Lapham well? And her daughter?"

"Yes, I think so, " said the young man. "The young ladies walked medown to the rocks in the usual way after dinner, and then I came backand talked paint with Mr. Lapham till midnight. We didn't settleanything till this morning coming up on the boat. "

"What sort of people do they seem to be at home?"

"What sort? Well, I don't know that I noticed. " Mrs. Corey permittedherself the first part of a sigh of relief; and her son laughed, butapparently not at her. "They're just reading Middlemarch. They saythere's so much talk about it. Oh, I suppose they're very good people. They seemed to be on very good terms with each other. "

"I suppose it's the plain sister who's reading Middlemarch. "

"Plain? Is she plain?" asked the young man, as if searching hisconsciousness. "Yes, it's the older one who does the reading, apparently. But I don't believe that even she overdoes it. They liketo talk better. They reminded me of Southern people in that. " Theyoung man smiled, as if amused by some of his impressions of the Laphamfamily. "The living, as the country people call it, is tremendouslygood. The Colonel--he's a colonel--talked of the coffee as his wife'scoffee, as if she had personally made it in the kitchen, though Ibelieve it was merely inspired by her. And there was everything in thehouse that money could buy. But money has its limitations. "

This was a fact which Mrs. Corey was beginning to realise more and moreunpleasantly in her own life; but it seemed to bring her a certaincomfort in its application to the Laphams. "Yes, there is a pointwhere taste has to begin, " she said. 

"They seemed to want to apologise to me for not having more books, "said Corey. "I don't know why they should. The Colonel said theybought a good many books, first and last; but apparently they don'ttake them to the sea-side. "

"I dare say they NEVER buy a NEW book. I've met some of these moneyedpeople lately, and they lavish on every conceivable luxury, and thenborrow books, and get them in the cheap paper editions. "

"I fancy that's the way with the Lapham family, " said the young man, smilingly. "But they are very good people. The other daughter ishumorous. "

"Humorous?" Mrs. Corey knitted her brows in some perplexity. "Do youmean like Mrs. Sayre?" she asked, naming the lady whose name must comeinto every Boston mind when humour is mentioned. 

"Oh no; nothing like that. She never says anything that you canremember; nothing in flashes or ripples; nothing the least literary. But it's a sort of droll way of looking at things; or a droll mediumthrough which things present themselves. I don't know. She tells whatshe's seen, and mimics a little. "

"Oh, " said Mrs. Corey coldly. After a moment she asked: "And is MissIrene as pretty as ever?"

"She's a wonderful complexion, " said the son unsatisfactorily. "Ishall want to be by when father and Colonel Lapham meet, " he added, with a smile. 

"Ah, yes, your father!" said the mother, in that way in which a wife atonce compassionates and censures her husband to their children. 

"Do you think it's really going to be a trial to him?" asked the youngman quickly. 

"No, no, I can't say it is. But I confess I wish it was some otherbusiness, Tom. "

"Well, mother, I don't see why. The principal thing looked at now isthe amount of money; and while I would rather starve than touch adollar that was dirty with any sort of dishonesty----"

"Of course you would, my son!" interposed his mother proudly. 

"I shouldn't at all mind its having a little mineral paint on it. I'lluse my influence with Colonel Lapham--if I ever have any--to have hispaint scraped off the landscape. "

"I suppose you won't begin till the autumn. "

"Oh yes, I shall, " said the son, laughing at his mother's simpleignorance of business. "I shall begin to-morrow morning. "

"To-morrow morning!"

"Yes. I've had my desk appointed already, and I shall be down there atnine in the morning to take possession. "

"Tom, " cried his mother, "why do you think Mr. Lapham has taken youinto business so readily? I've always heard that it was so hard foryoung men to get in. "

"And do you think I found it easy with him? We had about twelve hours'solid talk. "

"And you don't suppose it was any sort of--personal consideration?"

"Why, I don't know exactly what you mean, mother. I suppose he likesme. "

Mrs. Corey could not say just what she meant. She answered, ineffectually enough--

"Yes. You wouldn't like it to be a favour, would you?"

"I think he's a man who may be trusted to look after his own interest. But I don't mind his beginning by liking me. It'll be my own fault ifI don't make myself essential to him. "

"Yes, " said Mrs. Corey. 

"Well, " demanded her husband, at their first meeting after herinterview with their son, "what did you say to Tom?"

"Very little, if anything. I found him with his mind made up, and itwould only have distressed him if I had tried to change it. "

"That is precisely what I said, my dear. "

"Besides, he had talked the matter over fully with James, and seems tohave been advised by him. I can't understand James. "

"Oh! it's in regard to the paint, and not the princess, that he's madeup his mind. Well, I think you were wise to let him alone, Anna. Werepresent a faded tradition. We don't really care what business a manis in, so it is large enough, and he doesn't advertise offensively; butwe think it fine to affect reluctance. "

"Do you really feel so, Bromfield?" asked his wife seriously. 

"Certainly I do. There was a long time in my misguided youth when Isupposed myself some sort of porcelain; but it's a relief to be of thecommon clay, after all, and to know it. If I get broken, I can beeasily replaced. "

"If Tom must go into such a business, " said Mrs. Corey, "I'm glad Jamesapproves of it. "

"I'm afraid it wouldn't matter to Tom if he didn't; and I don't knowthat I should care, " said Corey, betraying the fact that he had perhapshad a good deal of his brother-in-law's judgment in the course of hislife. "You had better consult him in regard to Tom's marrying theprincess. "

"There is no necessity at present for that, " said Mrs. Corey, withdignity. After a moment, she asked, "Should you feel quite so easy ifit were a question of that, Bromfield?"

"It would be a little more personal. "

"You feel about it as I do. Of course, we have both lived too long, and seen too much of the world, to suppose we can control such things. The child is good, I haven't the least doubt, and all those things canbe managed so that they wouldn't disgrace us. But she has had acertain sort of bringing up. I should prefer Tom to marry a girl withanother sort, and this business venture of his increases the chancesthat he won't. That's all. "

"''Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but 'twillserve. '"

"I shouldn't like it. "

"Well, it hasn't happened yet. "

"Ah, you never can realise anything beforehand. "

"Perhaps that has saved me some suffering. But you have at least theconsolation of two anxieties at once. I always find that a greatadvantage. You can play one off against the other. "

Mrs. Corey drew a long breath as if she did not experience thesuggested consolation; and she arranged to quit, the followingafternoon, the scene of her defeat, which she had not had the courageto make a battlefield. Her son went down to see her off on the boat, after spending his first day at his desk in Lapham's office. He was ina gay humour, and she departed in a reflected gleam of his goodspirits. He told her all about it, as he sat talking with her at thestern of the boat, lingering till the last moment, and then steppingashore, with as little waste of time as Lapham himself, on thegang-plank which the deck-hands had laid hold of. He touched his hatto her from the wharf to reassure her of his escape from being carriedaway with her, and the next moment his smiling face hid itself in thecrowd. 

He walked on smiling up the long wharf, encumbered with trucks andhacks and piles of freight, and, taking his way through the desertedbusiness streets beyond this bustle, made a point of passing the doorof Lapham's warehouse, on the jambs of which his name and paint werelettered in black on a square ground of white. The door was stillopen, and Corey loitered a moment before it, tempted to go upstairs andfetch away some foreign letters which he had left on his desk, andwhich he thought he might finish up at home. He was in love with hiswork, and he felt the enthusiasm for it which nothing but the work wecan do well inspires in us. He believed that he had found his place inthe world, after a good deal of looking, and he had the relief, therepose, of fitting into it. Every little incident of the momentous, uneventful day was a pleasure in his mind, from his sitting down at hisdesk, to which Lapham's boy brought him the foreign letters, till hisrising from it an hour ago. Lapham had been in view within his ownoffice, but he had given Corey no formal reception, and had, in fact, not spoken to him till toward the end of the forenoon, when he suddenlycame out of his den with some more letters in his hand, and after abrief "How d'ye do?" had spoken a few words about them, and left themwith him. He was in his shirt-sleeves again, and his sanguine personseemed to radiate the heat with which he suffered. He did not go outto lunch, but had it brought to him in his office, where Corey saw himeating it before he left his own desk to go out and perch on a swingingseat before the long counter of a down-town restaurant. He observedthat all the others lunched at twelve, and he resolved to anticipatehis usual hour. When he returned, the pretty girl who had beenclicking away at a type-writer all the morning was neatly putting outof sight the evidences of pie from the table where her machine stood, and was preparing to go on with her copying. In his office Lapham layasleep in his arm-chair, with a newspaper over his face. 

Now, while Corey lingered at the entrance to the stairway, these twocame down the stairs together, and he heard Lapham saying, "Well, then, you better get a divorce. "

He looked red and excited, and the girl's face, which she veiled atsight of Corey, showed traces of tears. She slipped round him into thestreet. 

But Lapham stopped, and said, with the show of no feeling but surprise:"Hello, Corey! Did you want to go up?"

"Yes; there were some letters I hadn't quite got through with. "

"You'll find Dennis up there. But I guess you better let them go tillto-morrow. I always make it a rule to stop work when I'm done. "

"Perhaps you're right, " said Corey, yielding. 

"Come along down as far as the boat with me. There's a little matter Iwant to talk over with you. "

It was a business matter, and related to Corey's proposed connectionwith the house. 

The next day the head book-keeper, who lunched at the long counter ofthe same restaurant with Corey, began to talk with him about Lapham. Walker had not apparently got his place by seniority; though with hisforehead, bald far up toward the crown, and his round smooth face, onemight have taken him for a plump elder, if he had not looked equallylike a robust infant. The thick drabbish yellow moustache was whatarrested decision in either direction, and the prompt vigour of all hismovements was that of a young man of thirty, which was really Walker'sage. He knew, of course, who Corey was, and he had waited for a manwho might look down on him socially to make the overtures towardsomething more than business acquaintance; but, these made, he wasreadily responsive, and drew freely on his philosophy of Lapham and hisaffairs. 

"I think about the only difference between people in this world is thatsome know what they want, and some don't. Well, now, " said Walker, beating the bottom of his salt-box to make the salt come out, "the oldman knows what he wants every time. And generally he gets it. Yes, sir, he generally gets it. He knows what he's about, but I'll beblessed if the rest of us do half the time. Anyway, we don't till he'sready to let us. You take my position in most business houses. It'sconfidential. The head book-keeper knows right along pretty mucheverything the house has got in hand. I'll give you my word I don't. He may open up to you a little more in your department, but, as far asthe rest of us go, he don't open up any more than an oyster on a hotbrick. They say he had a partner once; I guess he's dead. I wouldn'tlike to be the old man's partner. Well, you see, this paint of his islike his heart's blood. Better not try to joke him about it. I'veseen people come in occasionally and try it. They didn't get much funout of it. "

While he talked, Walker was plucking up morsels from his plate, tearingoff pieces of French bread from the long loaf, and feeding them intohis mouth in an impersonal way, as if he were firing up an engine. 

"I suppose he thinks, " suggested Corey, "that if he doesn't tell, nobody else will. "

Walker took a draught of beer from his glass, and wiped the foam fromhis moustache. 

"Oh, but he carries it too far! It's a weakness with him. He's just soabout everything. Look at the way he keeps it up about thattype-writer girl of his. You'd think she was some princess travellingincognito. There isn't one of us knows who she is, or where she camefrom, or who she belongs to. He brought her and her machine into theoffice one morning, and set 'em down at a table, and that's all thereis about it, as far as we're concerned. It's pretty hard on the girl, for I guess she'd like to talk; and to any one that didn't know the oldman----" Walker broke off and drained his glass of what was left in it. 

Corey thought of the words he had overheard from Lapham to the girl. But he said, "She seems to be kept pretty busy. "

"Oh yes, " said Walker; "there ain't much loafing round the place, inany of the departments, from the old man's down. That's just what Isay. He's got to work just twice as hard, if he wants to keepeverything in his own mind. But he ain't afraid of work. That's onegood thing about him. And Miss Dewey has to keep step with the rest ofus. But she don't look like one that would take to it naturally. Sucha pretty girl as that generally thinks she does enough when she looksher prettiest. "

"She's a pretty girl, " said Corey, non-committally. "But I suppose agreat many pretty girls have to earn their living. "

"Don't any of 'em like to do it, " returned the book-keeper. "Theythink it's a hardship, and I don't blame 'em. They have got a right toget married, and they ought to have the chance. And Miss Dewey'ssmart, too. She's as bright as a biscuit. I guess she's had trouble. I shouldn't be much more than half surprised if Miss Dewey wasn't MissDewey, or hadn't always been. Yes, sir, " continued the book-keeper, who prolonged the talk as they walked back to Lapham's warehousetogether, "I don't know exactly what it is, --it isn't any one thing inparticular, --but I should say that girl had been married. I wouldn'tspeak so freely to any of the rest, Mr. Corey, --I want you tounderstand that, --and it isn't any of my business, anyway; but that'smy opinion. "

Corey made no reply, as he walked beside the book-keeper, whocontinued--

"It's curious what a difference marriage makes in people. Now, I knowthat I don't look any more like a bachelor of my age than I do like theman in the moon, and yet I couldn't say where the difference came in, to save me. And it's just so with a woman. The minute you catch sightof her face, there's something in it that tells you whether she'smarried or not. What do you suppose it is?"

"I'm sure I don't know, " said Corey, willing to laugh away the topic. "And from what I read occasionally of some people who go aboutrepeating their happiness, I shouldn't say that the intangibleevidences were always unmistakable. "

"Oh, of course, " admitted Walker, easily surrendering his position. "All signs fail in dry weather. Hello! What's that?" He caught Coreyby the arm, and they both stopped. 

At a corner, half a block ahead of them, the summer noon solitude ofthe place was broken by a bit of drama. A man and woman issued fromthe intersecting street, and at the moment of coming into sight theman, who looked like a sailor, caught the woman by the arm, as if todetain her. A brief struggle ensued, the woman trying to free herself, and the man half coaxing, half scolding. The spectators could now seethat he was drunk; but before they could decide whether it was a casefor their interference or not, the woman suddenly set both handsagainst the man's breast and gave him a quick push. He lost hisfooting and tumbled into a heap in the gutter. The woman faltered aninstant, as if to see whether he was seriously hurt, and then turnedand ran. 

When Corey and the book-keeper re-entered the office, Miss Dewey hadfinished her lunch, and was putting a sheet of paper into hertype-writer. She looked up at them with her eyes of turquoise blue, under her low white forehead, with the hair neatly rippled over it, andthen began to beat the keys of her machine. 

IX. 

LAPHAM had the pride which comes of self-making, and he would notopenly lower his crest to the young fellow he had taken into hisbusiness. He was going to be obviously master in his own place toevery one; and during the hours of business he did nothing todistinguish Corey from the half-dozen other clerks and book-keepers inthe outer office, but he was not silent about the fact that BromfieldCorey's son had taken a fancy to come to him. "Did you notice thatfellow at the desk facing my type-writer girl? Well, sir, that's theson of Bromfield Corey--old Phillips Corey's grandson. And I'll saythis for him, that there isn't a man in the office that looks after hiswork better. There isn't anything he's too good for. He's right hereat nine every morning, before the clock gets in the word. I guess it'shis grandfather coming out in him. He's got charge of the foreigncorrespondence. We're pushing the paint everywhere. " He flatteredhimself that he did not lug the matter in. He had been warned againstthat by his wife, but he had the right to do Corey justice, and hisbrag took the form of illustration. "Talk about training forbusiness--I tell you it's all in the man himself! I used to believe inwhat old Horace Greeley said about college graduates being the poorestkind of horned cattle; but I've changed my mind a little. You takethat fellow Corey. He's been through Harvard, and he's had about everyadvantage that a fellow could have. Been everywhere, and talks half adozen languages like English. I suppose he's got money enough to livewithout lifting a hand, any more than his father does; son of BromfieldCorey, you know. But the thing was in him. He's a natural-bornbusiness man; and I've had many a fellow with me that had come up outof the street, and worked hard all his life, without ever losing hisoriginal opposition to the thing. But Corey likes it. I believe thefellow would like to stick at that desk of his night and day. I don'tknow where he got it. I guess it must be his grandfather, old PhillipsCorey; it often skips a generation, you know. But what I say is, athing has got to be born in a man; and if it ain't born in him, all theprivations in the world won't put it there, and if it is, all thecollege training won't take it out. "

Sometimes Lapham advanced these ideas at his own table, to a guest whomhe had brought to Nantasket for the night. Then he suffered exposureand ridicule at the hands of his wife, when opportunity offered. Shewould not let him bring Corey down to Nantasket at all. 

"No, indeed!" she said. "I am not going to have them think we'rerunning after him. If he wants to see Irene, he can find out ways ofdoing it for himself. "

"Who wants him to see Irene?" retorted the Colonel angrily. 

"I do, " said Mrs. Lapham. "And I want him to see her without any ofyour connivance, Silas. I'm not going to have it said that I put mygirls at anybody. Why don't you invite some of your other clerks?"

"He ain't just like the other clerks. He's going to take charge of apart of the business. It's quite another thing. "

"Oh, indeed!" said Mrs. Lapham vexatiously. "Then you ARE going totake a partner. "

"I shall ask him down if I choose!" returned the Colonel, disdainingher insinuation. 

His wife laughed with the fearlessness of a woman who knows her husband. 

"But you won't choose when you've thought it over, Si. " Then sheapplied an emollient to his chafed surface. "Don't you suppose I feelas you do about it? I know just how proud you are, and I'm not going tohave you do anything that will make you feel meeching afterward. Youjust let things take their course. If he wants Irene, he's going tofind out some way of seeing her; and if he don't, all the plotting andplanning in the world isn't going to make him. "

"Who's plotting?" again retorted the Colonel, shuddering at theutterance of hopes and ambitions which a man hides with shame, but awoman talks over as freely and coolly as if they were items of amilliner's bill. 

"Oh, not you!" exulted his wife. "I understand what you want. Youwant to get this fellow, who is neither partner nor clerk, down here totalk business with him. Well, now, you just talk business with him atthe office. "

The only social attention which Lapham succeeded in offering Corey wasto take him in his buggy, now and then, for a spin out over theMill-dam. He kept the mare in town, and on a pleasant afternoon heliked to knock off early, as he phrased it, and let the mare out alittle. Corey understood something about horses, though in apassionless way, and he would have preferred to talk business whenobliged to talk horse. But he deferred to his business superior withthe sense of discipline which is innate in the apparently insubordinateAmerican nature. If Corey could hardly have helped feeling the socialdifference between Lapham and himself, in his presence he silenced histraditions, and showed him all the respect that he could have exactedfrom any of his clerks. He talked horse with him, and when the Colonelwished he talked house. Besides himself and his paint Lapham had notmany other topics; and if he had a choice between the mare and theedifice on the water side of Beacon Street, it was just now the latter. Sometimes, in driving in or out, he stopped at the house, and madeCorey his guest there, if he might not at Nantasket; and one day ithappened that the young man met Irene there again. She had come upwith her mother alone, and they were in the house, interviewing thecarpenter as before, when the Colonel jumped out of his buggy and castanchor at the pavement. More exactly, Mrs. Lapham was interviewing thecarpenter, and Irene was sitting in the bow-window on a trestle, andlooking out at the driving. She saw him come up with her father, andbowed and blushed. Her father went on up-stairs to find her mother, and Corey pulled up another trestle which he found in the back part ofthe room. The first floorings had been laid throughout the house, andthe partitions had been lathed so that one could realise the shape ofthe interior. 

"I suppose you will sit at this window a good deal, " said the young man. 

"Yes, I think it will be very nice. There's so much more going on thanthere is in the Square. "

"It must be very interesting to you to see the house grow. "

"It is. Only it doesn't seem to grow so fast as I expected. "

"Why, I'm amazed at the progress your carpenter has made every time Icome. "

The girl looked down, and then lifting her eyes she said, with a sortof timorous appeal--

"I've been reading that book since you were down at Nantasket. "

"Book?" repeated Corey, while she reddened with disappointment. "Ohyes. Middlemarch. Did you like it?"

"I haven't got through with it yet. Pen has finished it. "

"What does she think of it?"

"Oh, I think she likes it very well. I haven't heard her talk about itmuch. Do you like it?"

"Yes; I liked it immensely. But it's several years since I read it. "

"I didn't know it was so old. It's just got into the Seaside Library, "she urged, with a little sense of injury in her tone. 

"Oh, it hasn't been out such a very great while, " said Corey politely. "It came a little before DANIEL DERONDA. "

The girl was again silent. She followed the curl of a shaving on thefloor with the point of her parasol. 

"Do you like that Rosamond Vincy?" she asked, without looking up. 

Corey smiled in his kind way. 

"I didn't suppose she was expected to have any friends. I can't say Iliked her. But I don't think I disliked her so much as the authordoes. She's pretty hard on her good-looking"--he was going to saygirls, but as if that might have been rather personal, hesaid--"people. "

"Yes, that's what Pen says. She says she doesn't give her any chanceto be good. She says she should have been just as bad as Rosamond ifshe had been in her place. "

The young man laughed. "Your sister is very satirical, isn't she?"

"I don't know, " said Irene, still intent upon the convolutions of theshaving. "She keeps us laughing. Papa thinks there's nobody that cantalk like her. " She gave the shaving a little toss from her, and tookthe parasol up across her lap. The unworldliness of the Lapham girlsdid not extend to their dress; Irene's costume was very stylish, andshe governed her head and shoulders stylishly. "We are going to havethe back room upstairs for a music-room and library, " she said abruptly. 

"Yes?" returned Corey. "I should think that would be charming. "

"We expected to have book-cases, but the architect wants to build theshelves in. "

The fact seemed to be referred to Corey for his comment. 

"It seems to me that would be the best way. They'll look like part ofthe room then. You can make them low, and hang your pictures abovethem. "

"Yes, that's what he said. " The girl looked out of the window inadding, "I presume with nice bindings it will look very well. "

"Oh, nothing furnishes a room like books. "

"No. There will have to be a good many of them. "

"That depends upon the size of your room and the number of yourshelves. "

"Oh, of course! I presume, " said Irene, thoughtfully, "we shall have tohave Gibbon. "

"If you want to read him, " said Corey, with a laugh of sympathy for animaginable joke. 

"We had a great deal about him at school. I believe we had one of hisbooks. Mine's lost, but Pen will remember. "

The young man looked at her, and then said, seriously, "You'll wantGreene, of course, and Motley, and Parkman. "

"Yes. What kind of writers are they?"

"They're historians too. "

"Oh yes; I remember now. That's what Gibbon was. Is it Gibbon orGibbons?"

The young man decided the point with apparently superfluous delicacy. "Gibbon, I think. "

"There used to be so many of them, " said Irene gaily. "I used to getthem mixed up with each other, and I couldn't tell them from the poets. Should you want to have poetry?"

"Yes; I suppose some edition of the English poets. "

"We don't any of us like poetry. Do you like it?"

"I'm afraid I don't very much, " Corey owned. "But, of course, therewas a time when Tennyson was a great deal more to me than he is now. "

"We had something about him at school too. I think I remember thename. I think we ought to have ALL the American poets. "

"Well, not all. Five or six of the best: you want Longfellow andBryant and Whittier and Holmes and Emerson and Lowell. "

The girl listened attentively, as if making mental note of the names. 

"And Shakespeare, " she added. "Don't you like Shakespeare's plays?"

"Oh yes, very much. "

"I used to be perfectly crazy about his plays. Don't you think'Hamlet' is splendid? We had ever so much about Shakespeare. Weren'tyou perfectly astonished when you found out how many other plays of histhere were? I always thought there was nothing but 'Hamlet' and 'Romeoand Juliet' and 'Macbeth' and 'Richard III. ' and 'King Lear, ' and thatone that Robeson and Crane have--oh yes! 'Comedy of Errors. '"

"Those are the ones they usually play, " said Corey. 

"I presume we shall have to have Scott's works, " said Irene, returningto the question of books. 

"Oh yes. "

"One of the girls used to think he was GREAT. She was always talkingabout Scott. " Irene made a pretty little amiably contemptuous mouth. "He isn't American, though?" she suggested. 

"No, " said Corey; "he's Scotch, I believe. "

Irene passed her glove over her forehead. "I always get him mixed upwith Cooper. Well, papa has got to get them. If we have a library, wehave got to have books in it. Pen says it's perfectly ridiculoushaving one. But papa thinks whatever the architect says is right. Hefought him hard enough at first. I don't see how any one can keep thepoets and the historians and novelists separate in their mind. Ofcourse papa will buy them if we say so. But I don't see how I'm evergoing to tell him which ones. " The joyous light faded out of her faceand left it pensive. 

"Why, if you like, " said the young man, taking out his pencil, "I'llput down the names we've been talking about. "

He clapped himself on his breast pockets to detect some lurking scrapof paper. 

"Will you?" she cried delightedly. "Here! take one of my cards, " andshe pulled out her card-case. "The carpenter writes on a three-corneredblock and puts it into his pocket, and it's so uncomfortable he can'thelp remembering it. Pen says she's going to adopt thethree-cornered-block plan with papa. "

"Thank you, " said Corey. "I believe I'll use your card. " He crossedover to her, and after a moment sat down on the trestle beside her. She looked over the card as he wrote. "Those are the ones wementioned, but perhaps I'd better add a few others. "

"Oh, thank you, " she said, when he had written the card full on bothsides. "He has got to get them in the nicest binding, too. I shalltell him about their helping to furnish the room, and then he can'tobject. " She remained with the card, looking at it rather wistfully. 

Perhaps Corey divined her trouble of mind. "If he will take that toany bookseller, and tell him what bindings he wants, he will fill theorder for him. "

"Oh, thank you very much, " she said, and put the card back into hercard-case with great apparent relief. Then she turned her lovely facetoward the young man, beaming with the triumph a woman feels in any bitof successful manoeuvring, and began to talk with recovered gaiety ofother things, as if, having got rid of a matter annoying out of allproportion to its importance, she was now going to indemnify herself. 

Corey did not return to his own trestle. She found another shavingwithin reach of her parasol, and began poking that with it, and tryingto follow it through its folds. Corey watched her a while. 

"You seem to have a great passion for playing with shavings, " he said. "Is it a new one?"

"New what?"

"Passion. "

"I don't know, " she said, dropping her eyelids, and keeping on with hereffort. She looked shyly aslant at him. "Perhaps you don't approve ofplaying with shavings?"

"Oh yes, I do. I admire it very much. But it seems rather difficult. I've a great ambition to put my foot on the shaving's tail and hold itfor you. "

"Well, " said the girl. 

"Thank you, " said the young man. He did so, and now she ran herparasol point easily through it. They looked at each other andlaughed. "That was wonderful. Would you like to try another?" heasked. 

"No, I thank you, " she replied. "I think one will do. "

They both laughed again, for whatever reason or no reason, and then theyoung girl became sober. To a girl everything a young man does is ofsignificance; and if he holds a shaving down with his foot while shepokes through it with her parasol, she must ask herself what he meansby it. 

"They seem to be having rather a long interview with the carpenterto-day, " said Irene, looking vaguely toward the ceiling. She turnedwith polite ceremony to Corey. "I'm afraid you're letting them keepyou. You mustn't. "

"Oh no. You're letting me stay, " he returned. 

She bridled and bit her lip for pleasure. "I presume they will be downbefore a great while. Don't you like the smell of the wood and themortar? It's so fresh. "

"Yes, it's delicious. " He bent forward and picked up from the floor theshaving with which they had been playing, and put it to his nose. "It's like a flower. May I offer it to you?" he asked, as if it hadbeen one. 

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" She took it from him and put it into herbelt, and then they both laughed once more. 

Steps were heard descending. When the elder people reached the floorwhere they were sitting, Corey rose and presently took his leave. 

"What makes you so solemn, 'Rene?" asked Mrs. Lapham. 

"Solemn?" echoed the girl. "I'm not a BIT solemn. What CAN you mean?"

Corey dined at home that evening, and as he sat looking across thetable at his father, he said, "I wonder what the average literature ofnon-cultivated people is. "

"Ah, " said the elder, "I suspect the average is pretty low even withcultivated people. You don't read a great many books yourself, Tom. "

"No, I don't, " the young man confessed. "I read more books when I waswith Stanton, last winter, than I had since I was a boy. But I readthem because I must--there was nothing else to do. It wasn't because Iwas fond of reading. Still I think I read with some sense ofliterature and the difference between authors. I don't suppose thatpeople generally do that; I have met people who had read books withouttroubling themselves to find out even the author's name, much lesstrying to decide upon his quality. I suppose that's the way the vastmajority of people read. "

"Yes. If authors were not almost necessarily recluses, and ignorant ofthe ignorance about them, I don't see how they could endure it. Ofcourse they are fated to be overwhelmed by oblivion at last, poorfellows; but to see it weltering all round them while they are in thevery act of achieving immortality must be tremendously discouraging. Idon't suppose that we who have the habit of reading, and at least anodding acquaintance with literature, can imagine the bestial darknessof the great mass of people--even people whose houses are rich andwhose linen is purple and fine. But occasionally we get glimpses ofit. I suppose you found the latest publications lying all about inLapham cottage when you were down there?"

Young Corey laughed. "It wasn't exactly cumbered with them. "

"No?"

"To tell the truth, I don't suppose they ever buy books. The youngladies get novels that they hear talked of out of the circulatinglibrary. "

"Had they knowledge enough to be ashamed of their ignorance?"

"Yes, in certain ways--to a certain degree. "

"It's a curious thing, this thing we call civilisation, " said the eldermusingly. "We think it is an affair of epochs and of nations. It'sreally an affair of individuals. One brother will be civilised and theother a barbarian. I've occasionally met young girls who were sobrutally, insolently, wilfully indifferent to the arts which makecivilisation that they ought to have been clothed in the skins of wildbeasts and gone about barefoot with clubs over their shoulders. Yetthey were of polite origin, and their parents were at least respectfulof the things that these young animals despised. "

"I don't think that is exactly the case with the Lapham family, " saidthe son, smiling. "The father and mother rather apologised about notgetting time to read, and the young ladies by no means scorned it. "

"They are quite advanced!"

"They are going to have a library in their Beacon Street house. "

"Oh, poor things! How are they ever going to get the books together?"

"Well, sir, " said the son, colouring a little, "I have been indirectlyapplied to for help. "

"You, Tom!" His father dropped back in his chair and laughed. 

"I recommended the standard authors, " said the son. 

"Oh, I never supposed your PRUDENCE would be at fault, Tom!"

"But seriously, " said the young man, generously smiling in sympathywith his father's enjoyment, "they're not unintelligent people. Theyare very quick, and they are shrewd and sensible. "

"I have no doubt that some of the Sioux are so. But that is not sayingthat they are civilised. All civilisation comes through literaturenow, especially in our country. A Greek got his civilisation bytalking and looking, and in some measure a Parisian may still do it. But we, who live remote from history and monuments, we must read or wemust barbarise. Once we were softened, if not polished, by religion;but I suspect that the pulpit counts for much less now in civilising. "

"They're enormous devourers of newspapers, and theatre-goers; and theygo a great deal to lectures. The Colonel prefers them with thestereopticon. "

"They might get a something in that way, " said the elder thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose one must take those things into account--especially thenewspapers and the lectures. I doubt if the theatre is a factor incivilisation among us. I dare say it doesn't deprave a great deal, butfrom what I've seen of it I should say that it was intellectuallydegrading. Perhaps they might get some sort of lift from it; I don'tknow. Tom!" he added, after a moment's reflection. "I really think Iought to see this patron of yours. Don't you think it would be ratherdecent in me to make his acquaintance?"

"Well, if you have the fancy, sir, " said the young man. "But there'sno sort of obligation. Colonel Lapham would be the last man in theworld to want to give our relation any sort of social character. Themeeting will come about in the natural course of things. "

"Ah, I didn't intend to propose anything immediate, " said the father. "One can't do anything in the summer, and I should prefer your mother'ssuperintendence. Still, I can't rid myself of the idea of a dinner. It appears to me that there ought to be a dinner. "

"Oh, pray don't feel that there's any necessity. "

"Well, " said the elder, with easy resignation, "there's at least nohurry. "

"There is one thing I don't like, " said Lapham, in the course of one ofthose talks which came up between his wife and himself concerningCorey, "or at least I don't understand it; and that's the way hisfather behaves. I don't want to force myself on any man; but it seemsto me pretty queer the way he holds off. I should think he would takeenough interest in his son to want to know something about hisbusiness. What is he afraid of?" demanded Lapham angrily. "Does hethink I'm going to jump at a chance to get in with him, if he gives meone? He's mightily mistaken if he does. I don't want to know him. "

"Silas, " said his wife, making a wife's free version of her husband'swords, and replying to their spirit rather than their letter, "I hopeyou never said a word to Mr. Corey to let him know the way you feel. "

"I never mentioned his father to him!" roared the Colonel. "That's theway I feel about it!"

"Because it would spoil everything. I wouldn't have them think wecared the least thing in the world for their acquaintance. Weshouldn't be a bit better off. We don't know the same people they do, and we don't care for the same kind of things. "

Lapham was breathless with resentment of his wife's implication. "Don't I tell you, " he gasped, "that I don't want to know them? Whobegan it? They're friends of yours if they're anybody's. "

"They're distant acquaintances of mine, " returned Mrs. Lapham quietly;"and this young Corey is a clerk of yours. And I want we should holdourselves so that when they get ready to make the advances we can meetthem half-way or not, just as we choose. "

"That's what grinds me, " cried her husband. "Why should we wait forthem to make the advances? Why shouldn't we make 'em? Are they anybetter than we are? My note of hand would be worth ten times whatBromfield Corey's is on the street to-day. And I made MY money. Ihaven't loafed my life away. "

"Oh, it isn't what you've got, and it isn't what you've done exactly. It's what you are. "

"Well, then, what's the difference?"

"None that really amounts to anything, or that need give you anytrouble, if you don't think of it. But he's been all his life insociety, and he knows just what to say and what to do, and he can talkabout the things that society people like to talk about, andyou--can't. "

Lapham gave a furious snort. "And does that make him any better?"

"No. But it puts him where he can make the advances without demeaninghimself, and it puts you where you can't. Now, look here, Silas Lapham!You understand this thing as well as I do. You know that I appreciateyou, and that I'd sooner die than have you humble yourself to a livingsoul. But I'm not going to have you coming to me, and pretending thatyou can meet Bromfield Corey as an equal on his own ground. You can't. He's got a better education than you, and if he hasn't got more brainsthan you, he's got different. And he and his wife, and their fathersand grandfathers before 'em, have always had a high position, and youcan't help it. If you want to know them, you've got to let them makethe advances. If you don't, all well and good. "

"I guess, " said the chafed and vanquished Colonel, after a moment forswallowing the pill, "that they'd have been in a pretty fix if you'dwaited to let them make the advances last summer. "

"That was a different thing altogether. I didn't know who they were, or may be I should have waited. But all I say now is that if you'vegot young Corey into business with you, in hopes of our getting intosociety with his father, you better ship him at once. For I ain'tgoing to have it on that basis. "

"Who wants to have it on that basis?" retorted her husband. 

"Nobody, if you don't, " said Mrs. Lapham tranquilly. 

Irene had come home with the shaving in her belt, unnoticed by herfather, and unquestioned by her mother. But her sister saw it at once, and asked her what she was doing with it. 

"Oh, nothing, " said Irene, with a joyful smile of self-betrayal, takingthe shaving carefully out, and laying it among the laces and ribbons inher drawer. 

"Hadn't you better put it in water, 'Rene? It'll be all wilted bymorning, " said Pen. 

"You mean thing!" cried the happy girl. "It isn't a flower!"

"Oh, I thought it was a whole bouquet. Who gave it to you?"

"I shan't tell you, " said Irene saucily. 

"Oh, well, never mind. Did you know Mr. Corey had been down here thisafternoon, walking on the beach with me?"

"He wasn't--he wasn't at all! He was at the house with ME. There! I'vecaught you fairly. "

"Is that so?" drawled Penelope. "Then I never could guess who gave youthat precious shaving. "

"No, you couldn't!" said Irene, flushing beautifully. "And you mayguess, and you may guess, and you may guess!" With her lovely eyes shecoaxed her sister to keep on teasing her, and Penelope continued thecomedy with the patience that women have for such things. 

"Well, I'm not going to try, if it's no use. But I didn't know it hadgot to be the fashion to give shavings instead of flowers. But there'ssome sense in it. They can be used for kindlings when they get old, and you can't do anything with old flowers. Perhaps he'll get tosending 'em by the barrel. "

Irene laughed for pleasure in this tormenting. "O Pen, I want to tellyou how it all happened. "

"Oh, he DID give it to you, then? Well, I guess I don't care to hear. "

"You shall, and you've got to!" Irene ran and caught her sister, whofeigned to be going out of the room, and pushed her into a chair. "There, now!" She pulled up another chair, and hemmed her in with it. "He came over, and sat down on the trestle alongside of me----"

"What? As close as you are to me now?"

"You wretch! I will GIVE it to you! No, at a proper distance. And herewas this shaving on the floor, that I'd been poking with my parasol----"

"To hide your embarrassment. "

"Pshaw! I wasn't a bit embarrassed. I was just as much at my ease! Andthen he asked me to let him hold the shaving down with his foot, whileI went on with my poking. And I said yes he might----"

"What a bold girl! You said he might hold a shaving down for you?"

"And then--and then----" continued Irene, lifting her eyes absently, and losing herself in the beatific recollection, "and then----Oh yes!Then I asked him if he didn't like the smell of pine shavings. Andthen he picked it up, and said it smelt like a flower. And then heasked if he might offer it to me--just for a joke, you know. And Itook it, and stuck it in my belt. And we had such a laugh! We got intoa regular gale. And O Pen, what do you suppose he meant by it?" Shesuddenly caught herself to her sister's breast, and hid her burningface on her shoulder. 

"Well, there used to be a book about the language of flowers. But Inever knew much about the language of shavings, and I can't sayexactly----"

"Oh, don't--DON'T, Pen!" and here Irene gave over laughing, and beganto sob in her sister's arms. 

"Why, 'Rene!" cried the elder girl. 

"You KNOW he didn't mean anything. He doesn't care a bit about me. Hehates me! He despises me! Oh, what shall I do?"

A trouble passed over the face of the sister as she silently comfortedthe child in her arms; then the drolling light came back into her eyes. "Well, 'Rene, YOU haven't got to do ANYthing. That's one advantagegirls have got--if it IS an advantage. I'm not always sure. "

Irene's tears turned to laughing again. When she lifted her head itwas to look into the mirror confronting them, where her beauty showedall the more brilliant for the shower that had passed over it. Sheseemed to gather courage from the sight. 

"It must be awful to have to DO, " she said, smiling into her own face. "I don't see how they ever can. "

"Some of 'em can't--especially when there's such a tearing beautyaround. "

"Oh, pshaw, Pen! you know that isn't so. You've got a real prettymouth, Pen, " she added thoughtfully, surveying the feature in theglass, and then pouting her own lips for the sake of that effect onthem. 

"It's a useful mouth, " Penelope admitted; "I don't believe I could getalong without it now, I've had it so long. "

"It's got such a funny expression--just the mate of the look in youreyes; as if you were just going to say something ridiculous. He said, the very first time he saw you, that he knew you were humorous. "

"Is it possible? It must be so, if the Grand Mogul said it. Why didn'tyou tell me so before, and not let me keep on going round just like acommon person?"

Irene laughed as if she liked to have her sister take his praises inthat way rather than another. 

"I've got such a stiff, prim kind of mouth, " she said, drawing it down, and then looking anxiously at it. 

"I hope you didn't put on that expression when he offered you theshaving. If you did, I don't believe he'll ever give you anothersplinter. "

The severe mouth broke into a lovely laugh, and then pressed itself ina kiss against Penelope's cheek. 

"There! Be done, you silly thing! I'm not going to have you acceptingME before I've offered myself, ANYWAY. " She freed herself from hersister's embrace, and ran from her round the room. 

Irene pursued her, in the need of hiding her face against her shoulderagain. "O Pen! O Pen!" she cried. 

The next day, at the first moment of finding herself alone with hereldest daughter, Mrs. Lapham asked, as if knowing that Penelope musthave already made it subject of inquiry: "What was Irene doing withthat shaving in her belt yesterday?"

"Oh, just some nonsense of hers with Mr. Corey. He gave it to her atthe new house. " Penelope did not choose to look up and meet hermother's grave glance. 

"What do you think he meant by it?"

Penelope repeated Irene's account of the affair, and her motherlistened without seeming to derive much encouragement from it. 

"He doesn't seem like one to flirt with her, " she said at last. Then, after a thoughtful pause: "Irene is as good a girl as ever breathed, and she's a perfect beauty. But I should hate the day when a daughterof mine was married for her beauty. "

"You're safe as far as I'm concerned, mother. "

Mrs. Lapham smiled ruefully. "She isn't really equal to him, Pen. Imisdoubted that from the first, and it's been borne in upon me more andmore ever since. She hasn't mind enough. " "I didn't know that a manfell in love with a girl's intellect, " said Penelope quietly. 

"Oh no. He hasn't fallen in love with Irene at all. If he had, itwouldn't matter about the intellect. "

Penelope let the self-contradiction pass. 

"Perhaps he has, after all. "

"No, " said Mrs. Lapham. "She pleases him when he sees her. But hedoesn't try to see her. "

"He has no chance. You won't let father bring him here. "

"He would find excuses to come without being brought, if he wished tocome, " said the mother. "But she isn't in his mind enough to make him. He goes away and doesn't think anything more about her. She's a child. She's a good child, and I shall always say it; but she's nothing but achild. No, she's got to forget him. "

"Perhaps that won't be so easy. "

"No, I presume not. And now your father has got the notion in hishead, and he will move heaven and earth to bring it to pass. I can seethat he's always thinking about it. "

"The Colonel has a will of his own, " observed the girl, rocking to andfro where she sat looking at her mother. 

"I wish we had never met them!" cried Mrs. Lapham. "I wish we hadnever thought of building! I wish he had kept away from your father'sbusiness!"

"Well, it's too late now, mother, " said the girl. "Perhaps it isn't sobad as you think. "

"Well, we must stand it, anyway, " said Mrs. Lapham, with the grimantique Yankee submission. 

"Oh yes, we've got to stand it, " said Penelope, with the quaint modernAmerican fatalism. 

X. 

IT was late June, almost July, when Corey took up his life in Bostonagain, where the summer slips away so easily. If you go out of townearly, it seems a very long summer when you come back in October; butif you stay, it passes swiftly, and, seen foreshortened in its flight, seems scarcely a month's length. It has its days of heat, when it isvery hot, but for the most part it is cool, with baths of the east windthat seem to saturate the soul with delicious freshness. Then thereare stretches of grey westerly weather, when the air is full of thesentiment of early autumn, and the frying, of the grasshopper in theblossomed weed of the vacant lots on the Back Bay is intershot with thecarol of crickets; and the yellowing leaf on the long slope of Mt. Vernon Street smites the sauntering observer with tender melancholy. The caterpillar, gorged with the spoil of the lindens on Chestnut, andweaving his own shroud about him in his lodgment on the brick-work, records the passing of summer by mid-July; and if after that comesAugust, its breath is thick and short, and September is upon thesojourner before he has fairly had time to philosophise the characterof the town out of season. 

But it must have appeared that its most characteristic feature was theabsence of everybody he knew. This was one of the things thatcommended Boston to Bromfield Corey during the summer; and if his sonhad any qualms about the life he had entered upon with such vigour, itmust have been a relief to him that there was scarcely a soul left towonder or pity. By the time people got back to town the fact of hisconnection with the mineral paint man would be an old story, heard afaroff with different degrees of surprise, and considered with differentdegrees of indifference. A man has not reached the age of twenty-sixin any community where he was born and reared without having had hiscapacity pretty well ascertained; and in Boston the analysis isconducted with an unsparing thoroughness which may fitly impress theun-Bostonian mind, darkened by the popular superstition that theBostonians blindly admire one another. A man's qualities are sifted asclosely in Boston as they doubtless were in Florence or Athens; and, iffinal mercy was shown in those cities because a man was, with all hislimitations, an Athenian or Florentine, some abatement might as justlybe made in Boston for like reason. Corey's powers had been gauged incollege, and he had not given his world reason to think verydifferently of him since he came out of college. He was rated as anenergetic fellow, a little indefinite in aim, with the smallest amountof inspiration that can save a man from being commonplace. If he wasnot commonplace, it was through nothing remarkable in his mind, whichwas simply clear and practical, but through some combination ofqualities of the heart that made men trust him, and women call himsweet--a word of theirs which conveys otherwise indefinableexcellences. Some of the more nervous and excitable said that TomCorey was as sweet as he could live; but this perhaps meant no morethan the word alone. No man ever had a son less like him thanBromfield Corey. If Tom Corey had ever said a witty thing, no onecould remember it; and yet the father had never said a witty thing to amore sympathetic listener than his own son. The clear mind whichproduced nothing but practical results reflected everything withcharming lucidity; and it must have been this which endeared Tom Coreyto every one who spoke ten words with him. In a city where people havegood reason for liking to shine, a man who did not care to shine mustbe little short of universally acceptable without any other effort forpopularity; and those who admired and enjoyed Bromfield Corey loved hisson. Yet, when it came to accounting for Tom Corey, as it often did ina community where every one's generation is known to the remotestdegrees of cousinship, they could not trace his sweetness to hismother, for neither Anna Bellingham nor any of her family, though theywere so many blocks of Wenham ice for purity and rectangularity, hadever had any such savour; and, in fact, it was to his father, whosehabit of talk wronged it in himself, that they had to turn for thisquality of the son's. They traced to the mother the traits ofpracticality and common-sense in which he bordered upon thecommonplace, and which, when they had dwelt upon them, made him seemhardly worth the close inquiry they had given him. 

While the summer wore away he came and went methodically about hisbusiness, as if it had been the business of his life, sharing hisfather's bachelor liberty and solitude, and expecting with equalpatience the return of his mother and sisters in the autumn. Once ortwice he found time to run down to Mt. Desert and see them; and thenhe heard how the Philadelphia and New York people were getting ineverywhere, and was given reason to regret the house at Nahant which hehad urged to be sold. He came back and applied himself to his deskwith a devotion that was exemplary rather than necessary; for Laphammade no difficulty about the brief absences which he asked, and set noterm to the apprenticeship that Corey was serving in the office beforesetting off upon that mission to South America in the early winter, forwhich no date had yet been fixed. 

The summer was a dull season for the paint as well as for everythingelse. Till things should brisk up, as Lapham said, in the fall, he wasletting the new house take a great deal of his time. AEsthetic ideashad never been intelligibly presented to him before, and he found adelight in apprehending them that was very grateful to his imaginativearchitect. At the beginning, the architect had foreboded a series ofmortifying defeats and disastrous victories in his encounters with hisclient; but he had never had a client who could be more reasonably ledon from one outlay to another. It appeared that Lapham required but tounderstand or feel the beautiful effect intended, and he was ready topay for it. His bull-headed pride was concerned in a thing which thearchitect made him see, and then he believed that he had seen ithimself, perhaps conceived it. In some measure the architect seemed toshare his delusion, and freely said that Lapham was very suggestive. Together they blocked out windows here, and bricked them up there; theychanged doors and passages; pulled down cornices and replaced them withothers of different design; experimented with costly devices ofdecoration, and went to extravagant lengths in novelties of finish. Mrs. Lapham, beginning with a woman's adventurousness in the unknownregion, took fright at the reckless outlay at last, and refused to lether husband pass a certain limit. He tried to make her believe that afar-seeing economy dictated the expense; and that if he put the moneyinto the house, he could get it out any time by selling it. She wouldnot be persuaded. 

"I don't want you should sell it. And you've put more money into itnow than you'll ever get out again, unless you can find as big a gooseto buy it, and that isn't likely. No, sir! You just stop at a hundredthousand, and don't you let him get you a cent beyond. Why, you'reperfectly bewitched with that fellow! You've lost your head, SilasLapham, and if you don't look out you'll lose your money too. "

The Colonel laughed; he liked her to talk that way, and promised hewould hold up a while. 

"But there's no call to feel anxious, Pert. It's only a question whatto do with the money. I can reinvest it; but I never had so much of itto spend before. "

"Spend it, then, " said his wife; "don't throw it away! And how cameyou to have so much more money than you know what to do with, SilasLapham?" she added. 

"Oh, I've made a very good thing in stocks lately. "

"In stocks? When did you take up gambling for a living?"

"Gambling? Stuff! What gambling? Who said it was gambling?"

"You have; many a time. "

"Oh yes, buying and selling on a margin. But this was a bona fidetransaction. I bought at forty-three for an investment, and I sold ata hundred and seven; and the money passed both times. "

"Well, you better let stocks alone, " said his wife, with theconservatism of her sex. "Next time you'll buy at a hundred and sevenand sell at forty three. Then where'll you be?"

"Left, " admitted the Colonel. 

"You better stick to paint a while yet. " The Colonel enjoyed this too, and laughed again with the ease of a man who knows what he is about. Afew days after that he came down to Nantasket with the radiant airwhich he wore when he had done a good thing in business and wanted hiswife's sympathy. He did not say anything of what had happened till hewas alone with her in their own room; but he was very gay the wholeevening, and made several jokes which Penelope said nothing but verygreat prosperity could excuse: they all understood these moods of his. 

"Well, what is it, Silas?" asked his wife when the time came. "Anymore big-bugs wanting to go into the mineral paint business with you?"

"Something better than that. "

"I could think of a good many better things, " said his wife, with asigh of latent bitterness. "What's this one?"

"I've had a visitor. "

"Who?"

"Can't you guess?"

"I don't want to try. Who was it?"

"Rogers. "

Mrs. Lapham sat down with her hands in her lap, and stared at the smileon her husband's face, where he sat facing her. 

"I guess you wouldn't want to joke on that subject, Si, " she said, alittle hoarsely, "and you wouldn't grin about it unless you had somegood news. I don't know what the miracle is, but if you could tellquick----"

She stopped like one who can say no more. 

"I will, Persis, " said her husband, and with that awed tone in which herarely spoke of anything but the virtues of his paint. "He came toborrow money of me, and I lent him it. That's the short of it. Thelong----"

"Go on, " said his wife, with gentle patience. 

"Well, Pert, I was never so much astonished in my life as I was to seethat man come into my office. You might have knocked me down with--Idon't know what. "

"I don't wonder. Go on!"

"And he was as much embarrassed as I was. There we stood, gaping ateach other, and I hadn't hardly sense enough to ask him to take achair. I don't know just how we got at it. And I don't remember justhow it was that he said he came to come to me. But he had got hold ofa patent right that he wanted to go into on a large scale, and there hewas wanting me to supply him the funds. "

"Go on!" said Mrs. Lapham, with her voice further in her throat. 

"I never felt the way you did about Rogers, but I know how you alwaysdid feel, and I guess I surprised him with my answer. He had broughtalong a lot of stock as security----"

"You didn't take it, Silas!" his wife flashed out. 

"Yes, I did, though, " said Lapham. "You wait. We settled ourbusiness, and then we went into the old thing, from the very start. And we talked it all over. And when we got through we shook hands. Well, I don't know when it's done me so much good to shake hands withanybody. "

"And you told him--you owned up to him that you were in the wrong, Silas?"

"No, I didn't, " returned the Colonel promptly; "for I wasn't. Andbefore we got through, I guess he saw it the same as I did. "

"Oh, no matter! so you had the chance to show how you felt. "

"But I never felt that way, " persisted the Colonel. "I've lent him themoney, and I've kept his stocks. And he got what he wanted out of me. "

"Give him back his stocks!"

"No, I shan't. Rogers came to borrow. He didn't come to beg. Youneedn't be troubled about his stocks. They're going to come up intime; but just now they're so low down that no bank would take them assecurity, and I've got to hold them till they do rise. I hope you'resatisfied now, Persis, " said her husband; and he looked at her with thewillingness to receive the reward of a good action which we all feelwhen we have performed one. "I lent him the money you kept me fromspending on the house. "

"Truly, Si? Well, I'm satisfied, " said Mrs. Lapham, with a deeptremulous breath. "The Lord has been good to you, Silas, " shecontinued solemnly. "You may laugh if you choose, and I don't know asI believe in his interfering a great deal; but I believe he'sinterfered this time; and I tell you, Silas, it ain't always he givespeople a chance to make it up to others in this life. I've been afraidyou'd die, Silas, before you got the chance; but he's let you live tomake it up to Rogers. "

"I'm glad to be let live, " said Lapham stubbornly, "but I hadn'tanything to make up to Milton K. Rogers. And if God has let me livefor that----"

"Oh, say what you please, Si! Say what you please, now you've done it!I shan't stop you. You've taken the one spot--the one SPECK--off youthat was ever there, and I'm satisfied. "

"There wa'n't ever any speck there, " Lapham held out, lapsing more andmore into his vernacular; "and what I done I done for you, Persis. "

"And I thank you for your own soul's sake, Silas. "

"I guess my soul's all right, " said Lapham. 

"And I want you should promise me one thing more. "

"Thought you said you were satisfied?"

"I am. But I want you should promise me this: that you won't letanything tempt you--anything!--to ever trouble Rogers for that moneyyou lent him. No matter what happens--no matter if you lose it all. Do you promise?"

"Why, I don't ever EXPECT to press him for it. That's what I said tomyself when I lent it. And of course I'm glad to have that old troublehealed up. I don't THINK I ever did Rogers any wrong, and I never didthink so; but if I DID do it--IF I did--I'm willing to call it square, if I never see a cent of my money back again. "

"Well, that's all, " said his wife. 

They did not celebrate his reconciliation with his old enemy--for suchthey had always felt him to be since he ceased to be an ally--by anyshow of joy or affection. It was not in their tradition, as stoicalfor the woman as for the man, that they should kiss or embrace eachother at such a moment. She was content to have told him that he haddone his duty, and he was content with her saying that. But before sheslept she found words to add that she always feared the selfish part hehad acted toward Rogers had weakened him, and left him less able toovercome any temptation that might beset him; and that was one reasonwhy she could never be easy about it. Now she should never fear forhim again. 

This time he did not explicitly deny her forgiving impeachment. "Well, it's all past and gone now, anyway; and I don't want you should thinkanything more about it. "

He was man enough to take advantage of the high favour in which hestood when he went up to town, and to abuse it by bringing Corey downto supper. His wife could not help condoning the sin of disobediencein him at such a time. Penelope said that between the admiration shefelt for the Colonel's boldness and her mother's forbearance, she washardly in a state to entertain company that evening; but she did whatshe could. 

Irene liked being talked to better than talking, and when her sisterwas by she was always, tacitly or explicitly, referring to her forconfirmation of what she said. She was content to sit and look prettyas she looked at the young man and listened to her sister's drolling. She laughed and kept glancing at Corey to make sure that he wasunderstanding her. When they went out on the veranda to see the moonon the water, Penelope led the way and Irene followed. 

They did not look at the moonlight long. The young man perched on therail of the veranda, and Irene took one of the red-paintedrocking-chairs where she could conveniently look at him and at hersister, who sat leaning forward lazily and running on, as the phraseis. That low, crooning note of hers was delicious; her face, glimpsednow and then in the moonlight as she turned it or lifted it a little, had a fascination which kept his eye. Her talk was very unliterary, and its effect seemed hardly conscious. She was far from epigram inher funning. She told of this trifle and that; she sketched thecharacters and looks of people who had interested her, and nothingseemed to have escaped her notice; she mimicked a little, but not much;she suggested, and then the affair represented itself as if without heragency. She did not laugh; when Corey stopped she made a soft cluck inher throat, as if she liked his being amused, and went on again. 

The Colonel, left alone with his wife for the first time since he hadcome from town, made haste to take the word. "Well, Pert, I'vearranged the whole thing with Rogers, and I hope you'll be satisfied toknow that he owes me twenty thousand dollars, and that I've gotsecurity from him to the amount of a fourth of that, if I was to forcehis stocks to a sale. "

"How came he to come down with you?" asked Mrs. Lapham. 

"Who? Rogers?"

"Mr. Corey. "

"Corey? Oh!" said Lapham, affecting not to have thought she could meanCorey. "He proposed it. "

"Likely!" jeered his wife, but with perfect amiability. 

"It's so, " protested the Colonel. "We got talking about a matter justbefore I left, and he walked down to the boat with me; and then he saidif I didn't mind he guessed he'd come along down and go back on thereturn boat. Of course I couldn't let him do that. "

"It's well for you you couldn't. "

"And I couldn't do less than bring him here to tea. "

"Oh, certainly not. "

"But he ain't going to stay the night--unless, " faltered Lapham, "youwant him to. "

"Oh, of course, I want him to! I guess he'll stay, probably. "

"Well, you know how crowded that last boat always is, and he can't getany other now. "

Mrs. Lapham laughed at the simple wile. "I hope you'll be just as wellsatisfied, Si, if it turns out he doesn't want Irene after all. "

"Pshaw, Persis! What are you always bringing that up for?" pleaded theColonel. Then he fell silent, and presently his rude, strong face wasclouded with an unconscious frown. 

"There!" cried his wife, startling him from his abstraction. "I seehow you'd feel; and I hope that you'll remember who you've got toblame. "

"I'll risk it, " said Lapham, with the confidence of a man used tosuccess. 

From the veranda the sound of Penelope's lazy tone came through theclosed windows, with joyous laughter from Irene and peals from Corey. 

"Listen to that!" said her father within, swelling up withinexpressible satisfaction. "That girl can talk for twenty, rightstraight along. She's better than a circus any day. I wonder whatshe's up to now. "

"Oh, she's probably getting off some of those yarns of hers, or tellingabout some people. She can't step out of the house without coming backwith more things to talk about than most folks would bring back fromJapan. There ain't a ridiculous person she's ever seen but what she'sgot something from them to make you laugh at; and I don't believe we'veever had anybody in the house since the girl could talk that she hain'tgot some saying from, or some trick that'll paint 'em out so't you cansee 'em and hear 'em. Sometimes I want to stop her; but when she getsinto one of her gales there ain't any standing up against her. I guessit's lucky for Irene that she's got Pen there to help entertain hercompany. I can't ever feel down where Pen is. "

"That's so, " said the Colonel. "And I guess she's got about as muchculture as any of them. Don't you?"

"She reads a great deal, " admitted her mother. "She seems to be at itthe whole while. I don't want she should injure her health, andsometimes I feel like snatchin' the books away from her. I don't knowas it's good for a girl to read so much, anyway, especially novels. Idon't want she should get notions. "

"Oh, I guess Pen'll know how to take care of herself, " said Lapham. 

"She's got sense enough. But she ain't so practical as Irene. She'smore up in the clouds--more of what you may call a dreamer. Irene'swide-awake every minute; and I declare, any one to see these twotogether when there's anything to be done, or any lead to be taken, would say Irene was the oldest, nine times out of ten. It's only whenthey get to talking that you can see Pen's got twice as much brains. "

"Well, " said Lapham, tacitly granting this point, and leaning back inhis chair in supreme content. "Did you ever see much nicer girlsanywhere?"

His wife laughed at his pride. "I presume they're as much swans asanybody's geese. "

"No; but honestly, now!"

"Oh, they'll do; but don't you be silly, if you can help it, Si. "

The young people came in, and Corey said it was time for his boat. Mrs. Lapham pressed him to stay, but he persisted, and he would not letthe Colonel send him to the boat; he said he would rather walk. Outside, he pushed along toward the boat, which presently he could seelying at her landing in the bay, across the sandy tract to the left ofthe hotels. From time to time he almost stopped in his rapid walk, asa man does whose mind is in a pleasant tumult; and then he went forwardat a swifter pace. "She's charming!" he said, and he thought he hadspoken aloud. He found himself floundering about in the deep sand, wide of the path; he got back to it, and reached the boat just beforeshe started. The clerk came to take his fare, and Corey lookedradiantly up at him in his lantern-light, with a smile that he musthave been wearing a long time; his cheek was stiff with it. Once somepeople who stood near him edged suddenly and fearfully away, and thenhe suspected himself of having laughed outright. 

XI. 

COREY put off his set smile with the help of a frown, of which he firstbecame aware after reaching home, when his father asked--

"Anything gone wrong with your department of the fine arts to-day, Tom?"

"Oh no--no, sir, " said the son, instantly relieving his brows from thestrain upon them, and beaming again. "But I was thinking whether youwere not perhaps right in your impression that it might be well for youto make Colonel Lapham's acquaintance before a great while. "

"Has he been suggesting it in any way?" asked Bromfield Corey, layingaside his book and taking his lean knee between his clasped hands. 

"Oh, not at all!" the young man hastened to reply. "I was merelythinking whether it might not begin to seem intentional, your not doingit. "

"Well, Tom, you know I have been leaving it altogether to you----"

"Oh, I understand, of course, and I didn't mean to urge anything of thekind----"

"You are so very much more of a Bostonian than I am, you know, thatI've been waiting your motion in entire confidence that you would knowjust what to do, and when to do it. If I had been left quite to my ownlawless impulses, I think I should have called upon your padrone atonce. It seems to me that my father would have found some way ofshowing that he expected as much as that from people placed in therelation to him that we hold to Colonel Lapham. "

"Do you think so?" asked the young man. 

"Yes. But you know I don't pretend to be an authority in such matters. As far as they go, I am always in the hands of your mother and youchildren. "

"I'm very sorry, sir. I had no idea I was over-ruling your judgment. I only wanted to spare you a formality that didn't seem quite anecessity yet. I'm very sorry, " he said again, and this time with morecomprehensive regret. "I shouldn't like to have seemed remiss with aman who has been so considerate of me. They are all very good-natured. "

"I dare say, " said Bromfield Corey, with the satisfaction which noelder can help feeling in disabling the judgment of a younger man, "that it won't be too late if I go down to your office with youto-morrow. "

"No, no. I didn't imagine your doing it at once, sir. "

"Ah, but nothing can prevent me from doing a thing when once I take thebit in my teeth, " said the father, with the pleasure which men of weakwill sometimes take in recognising their weakness. "How does their newhouse get on?"

"I believe they expect to be in it before New Year. "

"Will they be a great addition to society?" asked Bromfield Corey, withunimpeachable seriousness. 

"I don't quite know what you mean, " returned the son, a little uneasily. 

"Ah, I see that you do, Tom. "

"No one can help feeling that they are all people of good senseand--right ideas. "

"Oh, that won't do. If society took in all the people of right ideasand good sense, it would expand beyond the calling capacity of its mostactive members. Even your mother's social conscientiousness could notcompass it. Society is a very different sort of thing from good senseand right ideas. It is based upon them, of course, but the airy, graceful, winning superstructure which we all know demands differentqualities. Have your friends got these qualities, --which may be felt, but not defined?"

The son laughed. "To tell you the truth, sir, I don't think they havethe most elemental ideas of society, as we understand it. I don'tbelieve Mrs. Lapham ever gave a dinner. "

"And with all that money!" sighed the father. 

"I don't believe they have the habit of wine at table. I suspect thatwhen they don't drink tea and coffee with their dinner, they drinkice-water. "

"Horrible!" said Bromfield Corey. 

"It appears to me that this defines them. "

"Oh yes. There are people who give dinners, and who are notcognoscible. But people who have never yet given a dinner, how issociety to assimilate them?"

"It digests a great many people, " suggested the young man. 

"Yes; but they have always brought some sort of sauce piquante withthem. Now, as I understand you, these friends of yours have no suchsauce. "

"Oh, I don't know about that!" cried the son. 

"Oh, rude, native flavours, I dare say. But that isn't what I mean. Well, then, they must spend. There is no other way for them to wintheir way to general regard. We must have the Colonel elected to theTen O'clock Club, and he must put himself down in the list of thosewilling to entertain. Any one can manage a large supper. Yes, I see agleam of hope for him in that direction. "

In the morning Bromfield Corey asked his son whether he should findLapham at his place as early as eleven. 

"I think you might find him even earlier. I've never been there beforehim. I doubt if the porter is there much sooner. "

"Well, suppose I go with you, then?"

"Why, if you like, sir, " said the son, with some deprecation. 

"Oh, the question is, will HE like?"

"I think he will, sir;" and the father could see that his son was verymuch pleased. 

Lapham was rending an impatient course through the morning's news whenthey appeared at the door of his inner room. He looked up from thenewspaper spread on the desk before him, and then he stood up, makingan indifferent feint of not knowing that he knew Bromfield Corey bysight. 

"Good morning, Colonel Lapham, " said the son, and Lapham waited for himto say further, "I wish to introduce my father. " Then he answered, "Good morning, " and added rather sternly for the elder Corey, "How doyou do, sir? Will you take a chair?" and he pushed him one. 

They shook hands and sat down, and Lapham said to his subordinate, "Have a seat;" but young Corey remained standing, watching them intheir observance of each other with an amusement which was a littleuneasy. Lapham made his visitor speak first by waiting for him to doso. 

"I'm glad to make your acquaintance, Colonel Lapham, and I ought tohave come sooner to do so. My father in your place would have expectedit of a man in my place at once, I believe. But I can't feel myselfaltogether a stranger as it is. I hope Mrs. Lapham is well? And yourdaughter?"

"Thank you, " said Lapham, "they're quite well. "

"They were very kind to my wife----"

"Oh, that was nothing!" cried Lapham. "There's nothing Mrs. Laphamlikes better than a chance of that sort. Mrs. Corey and the youngladies well?"

"Very well, when I heard from them. They're out of town. "

"Yes, so I understood, " said Lapham, with a nod toward the son. "Ibelieve Mr. Corey, here, told Mrs. Lapham. " He leaned back in hischair, stiffly resolute to show that he was not incommoded by theexchange of these civilities. 

"Yes, " said Bromfield Corey. "Tom has had the pleasure which I hopefor of seeing you all. I hope you're able to make him useful to youhere?" Corey looked round Lapham's room vaguely, and then out at theclerks in their railed enclosure, where his eye finally rested on anextremely pretty girl, who was operating a type-writer. 

"Well, sir, " replied Lapham, softening for the first time with thisapproach to business, "I guess it will be our own fault if we don't. Bythe way, Corey, " he added, to the younger man, as he gathered up someletters from his desk, "here's something in your line. Spanish orFrench, I guess. "

"I'll run them over, " said Corey, taking them to his desk. 

His father made an offer to rise. 

"Don't go, " said Lapham, gesturing him down again. "I just wanted toget him away a minute. I don't care to say it to his face, --I don'tlike the principle, --but since you ask me about it, I'd just as liefsay that I've never had any young man take hold here equal to your son. I don't know as you care. "

"You make me very happy, " said Bromfield Corey. "Very happy indeed. I've always had the idea that there was something in my son, if hecould only find the way to work it out. And he seems to have gone intoyour business for the love of it. "

"He went to work in the right way, sir! He told me about it. He lookedinto it. And that paint is a thing that will bear looking into. "

"Oh yes. You might think he had invented it, if you heard himcelebrating it. "

"Is that so?" demanded Lapham, pleased through and through. "Well, there ain't any other way. You've got to believe in a thing before youcan put any heart in it. Why, I had a partner in this thing once, along back just after the war, and he used to be always wanting totinker with something else. 'Why, ' says I, 'you've got the best thingin God's universe now. Why ain't you satisfied?' I had to get rid ofhim at last. I stuck to my paint, and that fellow's drifted roundpretty much all over the whole country, whittling his capital down allthe while, till here the other day I had to lend him some money tostart him new. No, sir, you've got to believe in a thing. And Ibelieve in your son. And I don't mind telling you that, so far as he'sgone, he's a success. "

"That's very kind of you. "

"No kindness about it. As I was saying the other day to a friend ofmine, I've had many a fellow right out of the street that had to workhard all his life, and didn't begin to take hold like this son ofyours. "

Lapham expanded with profound self-satisfaction. As he probablyconceived it, he had succeeded in praising, in a perfectly casual way, the supreme excellence of his paint, and his own sagacity andbenevolence; and here he was sitting face to face with Bromfield Corey, praising his son to him, and receiving his grateful acknowledgments asif he were the father of some office-boy whom Lapham had given a placehalf but of charity. 

"Yes, sir, when your son proposed to take hold here, I didn't have muchfaith in his ideas, that's the truth. But I had faith in him, and Isaw that he meant business from the start. I could see it was born inhim. Any one could. "

"I'm afraid he didn't inherit it directly from me, " said BromfieldCorey; "but it's in the blood, on both sides. " "Well, sir, we can'thelp those things, " said Lapham compassionately. "Some of us have gotit, and some of us haven't. The idea is to make the most of what weHAVE got. "

"Oh yes; that is the idea. By all means. "

"And you can't ever tell what's in you till you try. Why, when Istarted this thing, I didn't more than half understand my own strength. I wouldn't have said, looking back, that I could have stood the wearand tear of what I've been through. But I developed as I went along. It's just like exercising your muscles in a gymnasium. You can lifttwice or three times as much after you've been in training a month asyou could before. And I can see that it's going to be just so withyour son. His going through college won't hurt him, --he'll soon sloughall that off, --and his bringing up won't; don't be anxious about it. Inoticed in the army that some of the fellows that had the most go-aheadwere fellows that hadn't ever had much more to do than girls before thewar broke out. Your son will get along. "

"Thank you, " said Bromfield Corey, and smiled--whether because hisspirit was safe in the humility he sometimes boasted, or because it wastriply armed in pride against anything the Colonel's kindness could do. 

"He'll get along. He's a good business man, and he's a fine fellow. MUST you go?" asked Lapham, as Bromfield Corey now rose moreresolutely. "Well, glad to see you. It was natural you should want tocome and see what he was about, and I'm glad you did. I should havefelt just so about it. Here is some of our stuff, " he said, pointingout the various packages in his office, including the Persis Brand. 

"Ah, that's very nice, very nice indeed, " said his visitor. "Thatcolour through the jar--very rich--delicious. Is Persis Brand a name?"

Lapham blushed. 

"Well, Persis is. I don't know as you saw an interview that fellowpublished in the Events a while back?"

"What is the Events?"

"Well, it's that new paper Witherby's started. "

"No, " said Bromfield Corey, "I haven't seen it. I read The Daily, " heexplained; by which he meant The Daily Advertiser, the only daily thereis in the old-fashioned Bostonian sense. 

"He put a lot of stuff in my mouth that I never said, " resumed Lapham;"but that's neither here nor there, so long as you haven't seen it. Here's the department your son's in, " and he showed him the foreignlabels. Then he took him out into the warehouse to see the largepackages. At the head of the stairs, where his guest stopped to nod tohis son and say "Good-bye, Tom, " Lapham insisted upon going down to thelower door with him "Well, call again, " he said in hospitabledismissal. "I shall always be glad to see you. There ain't a greatdeal doing at this season. " Bromfield Corey thanked him, and let hishand remain perforce in Lapham's lingering grasp. "If you ever like toride after a good horse----" the Colonel began. 

"Oh, no, no, no; thank you! The better the horse, the more I should bescared. Tom has told me of your driving!"

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the Colonel. "Well! every one to his taste. Well, good morning, sir!" and he suffered him to go. 

"Who is the old man blowing to this morning?" asked Walker, thebook-keeper, making an errand to Corey's desk. 

"My father. "

"Oh! That your father? I thought he must be one of your Italiancorrespondents that you'd been showing round, or Spanish. "

In fact, as Bromfield Corey found his way at his leisurely pace upthrough the streets on which the prosperity of his native city wasfounded, hardly any figure could have looked more alien to its life. He glanced up and down the facades and through the crooked vistas likea stranger, and the swarthy fruiterer of whom he bought an apple, apparently for the pleasure of holding it in his hand, was notsurprised that the purchase should be transacted in his own tongue. 

Lapham walked back through the outer office to his own room withoutlooking at Corey, and during the day he spoke to him only of businessmatters. That must have been his way of letting Corey see that he wasnot overcome by the honour of his father's visit. But he presentedhimself at Nantasket with the event so perceptibly on his mind that hiswife asked: "Well, Silas, has Rogers been borrowing any more money ofyou? I don't want you should let that thing go too far. You've doneenough. "

"You needn't be afraid. I've seen the last of Rogers for one while. "He hesitated, to give the fact an effect of no importance. "Corey'sfather called this morning. "

"Did he?" said Mrs. Lapham, willing to humour his feint ofindifference. "Did HE want to borrow some money too?" "Not as Iunderstood. " Lapham was smoking at great ease, and his wife had somecrocheting on the other side of the lamp from him. 

The girls were on the piazza looking at the moon on the water again. "There's no man in it to-night, " Penelope said, and Irene laughedforlornly. 

"What DID he want, then?" asked Mrs. Lapham. 

"Oh, I don't know. Seemed to be just a friendly call. Said he oughtto have come before. "

Mrs. Lapham was silent a while. Then she said: "Well, I hope you'resatisfied now. "

Lapham rejected the sympathy too openly offered. "I don't know aboutbeing satisfied. I wa'n't in any hurry to see him. "

His wife permitted him this pretence also. "What sort of a person ishe, anyway?"

"Well, not much like his son. There's no sort of business about him. I don't know just how you'd describe him. He's tall; and he's gotwhite hair and a moustache; and his fingers are very long and limber. I couldn't help noticing them as he sat there with his hands on the topof his cane. Didn't seem to be dressed very much, and acted just likeanybody. Didn't talk much. Guess I did most of the talking. Said hewas glad I seemed to be getting along so well with his son. He askedafter you and Irene; and he said he couldn't feel just like a stranger. Said you had been very kind to his wife. Of course I turned it off. Yes, " said Lapham thoughtfully, with his hands resting on his knees, and his cigar between the fingers of his left hand, "I guess he meantto do the right thing, every way. Don't know as I ever saw a muchpleasanter man. Dunno but what he's about the pleasantest man I everdid see. " He was not letting his wife see in his averted face thestruggle that revealed itself there--the struggle of stalwartachievement not to feel flattered at the notice of sterile elegance, not to be sneakingly glad of its amiability, but to stand up and lookat it with eyes on the same level. God, who made us so much likehimself, but out of the dust, alone knows when that struggle will end. The time had been when Lapham could not have imagined any worldlysplendour which his dollars could not buy if he chose to spend them forit; but his wife's half discoveries, taking form again in his ignoranceof the world, filled him with helpless misgiving. A cloudy vision ofsomething unpurchasable, where he had supposed there was nothing, hadcowed him in spite of the burly resistance of his pride. 

"I don't see why he shouldn't be pleasant, " said Mrs. Lapham. "He'snever done anything else. "

Lapham looked up consciously, with an uneasy laugh. "Pshaw, Persis!you never forget anything?"

"Oh, I've got more than that to remember. I suppose you asked him toride after the mare?"

"Well, " said Lapham, reddening guiltily, "he said he was afraid of agood horse. "

"Then, of course, you hadn't asked him. " Mrs. Lapham crocheted insilence, and her husband leaned back in his chair and smoked. 

At last he said, "I'm going to push that house forward. They'reloafing on it. There's no reason why we shouldn't be in it byThanksgiving. I don't believe in moving in the dead of winter. "

"We can wait till spring. We're very comfortable in the old place, "answered his wife. Then she broke out on him: "What are you in such ahurry to get into that house for? Do you want to invite the Coreys to ahouse-warming?"

Lapham looked at her without speaking. 

"Don't you suppose I can see through you I declare, Silas Lapham, if Ididn't know different, I should say you were about the biggest fool!Don't you know ANYthing? Don't you know that it wouldn't do to askthose people to our house before they've asked us to theirs? They'dlaugh in our faces!"

"I don't believe they'd laugh in our faces. What's the differencebetween our asking them and their asking us?" demanded the Colonelsulkily. 

"Oh, well! If you don t see!"

"Well, I DON'T see. But I don't want to ask them to the house. Isuppose, if I want to, I can invite him down to a fish dinner atTaft's. "

Mrs. Lapham fell back in her chair, and let her work drop in her lapwith that "Tckk!" in which her sex knows how to express utter contemptand despair. 

"What's the matter?"

"Well, if you DO such a thing, Silas, I'll never speak to you again!It's no USE! It's NO use! I did think, after you'd behaved so wellabout Rogers, I might trust you a little. But I see I can't. I presumeas long as you live you'll have to be nosed about like a perfect--Idon't know what!"

"What are you making such a fuss about?" demanded Lapham, terriblycrestfallen, but trying to pluck up a spirit. "I haven't done anythingyet. I can't ask your advice about anything any more without havingyou fly out. Confound it! I shall do as I please after this. "

But as if he could not endure that contemptuous atmosphere, he got up, and his wife heard him in the dining-room pouring himself out a glassof ice-water, and then heard him mount the stairs to their room, andslam its door after him. 

"Do you know what your father's wanting to do now?" Mrs. Lapham askedher eldest daughter, who lounged into the parlour a moment with herwrap stringing from her arm, while the younger went straight to bed. "He wants to invite Mr. Corey's father to a fish dinner at Taft's!"

Penelope was yawning with her hand on her mouth; she stopped, and, witha laugh of amused expectance, sank into a chair, her shoulders shruggedforward. 

"Why! what in the world has put the Colonel up to that?"

"Put him up to it! There's that fellow, who ought have come to see himlong ago, drops into his office this morning, and talks five minuteswith him, and your father is flattered out of his five senses. He'scrazy to get in with those people, and I shall have a perfect battle tokeep him within bounds. "

"Well, Persis, ma'am, you can't say but what you began it, " saidPenelope. 

"Oh yes, I began it, " confessed Mrs. Lapham. "Pen, " she broke out, "what do you suppose he means by it?"

"Who? Mr. Corey's father? What does the Colonel think?"

"Oh, the Colonel!" cried Mrs. Lapham. She added tremulously: "Perhapshe IS right. He DID seem to take a fancy to her last summer, and nowif he's called in that way . . . " She left her daughter to distributethe pronouns aright, and resumed: "Of course, I should have said oncethat there wasn't any question about it. I should have said so lastyear; and I don't know what it is keeps me from saying so now. Isuppose I know a little more about things than I did; and your father'sbeing so bent on it sets me all in a twitter. He thinks his money cando everything. Well, I don't say but what it can, a good many. And'Rene is as good a child as ever there was; and I don't see but whatshe's pretty-appearing enough to suit any one. She's pretty-behaved, too; and she IS the most capable girl. I presume young men don't carevery much for such things nowadays; but there ain't a great many girlscan go right into the kitchen, and make such a custard as she didyesterday. And look at the way she does, through the whole house! Shecan't seem to go into a room without the things fly right into theirplaces. And if she had to do it to-morrow, she could make all her owndresses a great deal better than them we pay to do it. I don't say butwhat he's about as nice a fellow as ever stepped. But there! I'mashamed of going on so. "

"Well, mother, " said the girl after a pause, in which she looked as ifa little weary of the subject, "why do you worry about it? If it's tobe it'll be, and if it isn't----"

"Yes, that's what I tell your father. But when it comes to myself, Isee how hard it is for him to rest quiet. I'm afraid we shall all dosomething we'll repent of afterwards. "

"Well, ma'am, " said Penelope, "I don't intend to do anything wrong; butif I do, I promise not to be sorry for it. I'll go that far. And Ithink I wouldn't be sorry for it beforehand, if I were in your place, mother. Let the Colonel go on! He likes to manoeuvre, and he isn'tgoing to hurt any one. The Corey family can take care of themselves, Iguess. "

She laughed in her throat, drawing down the corners of her mouth, andenjoying the resolution with which her mother tried to fling off theburden of her anxieties. "Pen! I believe you're right. You always dosee things in such a light! There! I don't care if he brings him downevery day. "

"Well, ma'am, " said Pen, "I don't believe 'Rene would, either. She'sjust so indifferent!"

The Colonel slept badly that night, and in the morning Mrs. Lapham cameto breakfast without him. 

"Your father ain't well, " she reported. "He's had one of his turns. "

"I should have thought he had two or three of them, " said Penelope, "bythe stamping round I heard. Isn't he coming to breakfast?"

"Not just yet, " said her mother. "He's asleep, and he'll be all rightif he gets his nap out. I don't want you girls should make any greatnoise. " "Oh, we'll be quiet enough, " returned Penelope. "Well, I'mglad the Colonel isn't sojering. At first I thought he might besojering. " She broke into a laugh, and, struggling indolently with it, looked at her sister. "You don't think it'll be necessary for anybodyto come down from the office and take orders from him while he's laidup, do you, mother?" she inquired. 

"Pen!" cried Irene. 

"He'll be well enough to go up on the ten o'clock boat, " said themother sharply. 

"I think papa works too hard all through the summer. Why don't youmake him take a rest, mamma?" asked Irene. 

"Oh, take a rest! The man slaves harder every year. It used to be sothat he'd take a little time off now and then; but I declare, he hardlyever seems to breathe now away from his office. And this year he sayshe doesn't intend to go down to Lapham, except to see after the worksfor a few days. I don't know what to do with the man any more! Seemsas if the more money he got, the more he wanted to get. It scares meto think what would happen to him if he lost it. I know one thing, "concluded Mrs. Lapham. "He shall not go back to the office to-day. "

"Then he won't go up on the ten o'clock boat, " Pen reminded her. 

"No, he won't. You can just drive over to the hotel as soon as you'rethrough, girls, and telegraph that he's not well, and won't be at theoffice till to-morrow. I'm not going to have them send anybody downhere to bother him. "

"That's a blow, " said Pen. "I didn't know but they might send----" shelooked demurely at her sister--"Dennis!"

"Mamma!" cried Irene. 

"Well, I declare, there's no living with this family any more, " saidPenelope. 

"There, Pen, be done!" commanded her mother. But perhaps she did notintend to forbid her teasing. It gave a pleasant sort of reality tothe affair that was in her mind, and made what she wished appear notonly possible but probable. 

Lapham got up and lounged about, fretting and rebelling as each boatdeparted without him, through the day; before night he became verycross, in spite of the efforts of the family to soothe him, andgrumbled that he had been kept from going up to town. "I might as wellhave gone as not, " he repeated, till his wife lost her patience. 

"Well, you shall go to-morrow, Silas, if you have to be carried to theboat. "

"I declare, " said Penelope, "the Colonel don't pet worth a cent. "

The six o'clock boat brought Corey. The girls were sitting on thepiazza, and Irene saw him first. 

"O Pen!" she whispered, with her heart in her face; and Penelope had notime for mockery before he was at the steps. 

"I hope Colonel Lapham isn't ill, " he said, and they could hear theirmother engaged in a moral contest with their father indoors. 

"Go and put on your coat! I say you shall! It don't matter HOW he seesyou at the office, shirt-sleeves or not. You're in a gentleman's housenow--or you ought to be--and you shan't see company in yourdressing-gown. "

Penelope hurried in to subdue her mother's anger. 

"Oh, he's very much better, thank you!" said Irene, speaking up loudlyto drown the noise of the controversy. 

"I'm glad of that, " said Corey, and when she led him indoors thevanquished Colonel met his visitor in a double-breasted frock-coat, which he was still buttoning up. He could not persuade himself at oncethat Corey had not come upon some urgent business matter, and when hewas clear that he had come out of civility, surprise mingled with hisgratification that he should be the object of solicitude to the youngman. In Lapham's circle of acquaintance they complained when they weresick, but they made no womanish inquiries after one another's health, and certainly paid no visits of sympathy till matters were serious. Hewould have enlarged upon the particulars of his indisposition if he hadbeen allowed to do so; and after tea, which Corey took with them, hewould have remained to entertain him if his wife had not sent him tobed. She followed him to see that he took some medicine she hadprescribed for him, but she went first to Penelope's room, where shefound the girl with a book in her hand, which she was not reading. 

"You better go down, " said the mother. "I've got to go to your father, and Irene is all alone with Mr. Corey; and I know she'll be on pins andneedles without you're there to help make it go off. "

"She'd better try to get along without me, mother, " said Penelopesoberly. "I can't always be with them. "

"Well, " replied Mrs. Lapham, "then I must. There'll be a perfectQuaker meeting down there. "

"Oh, I guess 'Rene will find something to say if you leave her toherself. Or if she don't, HE must. It'll be all right for you to godown when you get ready; but I shan't go till toward the last. If he'scoming here to see Irene--and I don't believe he's come on father'saccount--he wants to see her and not me. If she can't interest himalone, perhaps he'd as well find it out now as any time. At any rate, I guess you'd better make the experiment. You'll know whether it's asuccess if he comes again. "

"Well, " said the mother, "may be you're right. I'll go down directly. It does seem as if he did mean something, after all. "

Mrs. Lapham did not hasten to return to her guest. In her own girlhoodit was supposed that if a young man seemed to be coming to see a girl, it was only common-sense to suppose that he wished to see her alone;and her life in town had left Mrs. Lapham's simple traditions in thisrespect unchanged. She did with her daughter as her mother would havedone with her. 

Where Penelope sat with her book, she heard the continuous murmur ofvoices below, and after a long interval she heard her mother descend. She did not read the open book that lay in her lap, though she kept hereyes fast on the print. Once she rose and almost shut the door, sothat she could scarcely hear; then she opened it wide again with aself-disdainful air, and resolutely went back to her book, which againshe did not read. But she remained in her room till it was nearly timefor Corey to return to his boat. 

When they were alone again, Irene made a feint of scolding her forleaving her to entertain Mr. Corey. 

"Why! didn't you have a pleasant call?" asked Penelope. 

Irene threw her arms round her. "Oh, it was a SPLENDID call! I didn'tsuppose I could make it go off so well. We talked nearly the wholetime about you!"

"I don't think THAT was a very interesting subject. "

"He kept asking about you. He asked everything. You don't know howmuch he thinks of you, Pen. O Pen! what do you think made him come?Do you think he really did come to see how papa was?" Irene buried herface in her sister's neck. 

Penelope stood with her arms at her side, submitting. "Well, " shesaid, "I don't think he did, altogether. "

Irene, all glowing, released her. "Don't you--don't you REALLY? O Pen!don't you think he IS nice? Don't you think he's handsome? Don't youthink I behaved horridly when we first met him this evening, notthanking him for coming? I know he thinks I've no manners. But itseemed as if it would be thanking him for coming to see me. Ought I tohave asked him to come again, when he said good-night? I didn't; Icouldn't. Do you believe he'll think I don't want him to? You don'tbelieve he would keep coming if he didn't--want to----"

"He hasn't kept coming a great deal, yet, " suggested Penelope. 

"No; I know he hasn't. But if he--if he should?"

"Then I should think he wanted to. "

"Oh, would you--WOULD you? Oh, how good you always are, Pen! And youalways say what you think. I wish there was some one coming to see youtoo. That's all that I don't like about it. Perhaps----He was tellingabout his friend there in Texas----"

"Well, " said Penelope, "his friend couldn't call often from Texas. Youneedn't ask Mr. Corey to trouble about me, 'Rene. I think I can manageto worry along, if you're satisfied. "

"Oh, I AM, Pen. When do you suppose he'll come again?" Irene pushedsome of Penelope's things aside on the dressing-case, to rest her elbowand talk at ease. Penelope came up and put them back. 

"Well, not to-night, " she said; "and if that's what you're sitting upfor----"

Irene caught her round the neck again, and ran out of the room. 

The Colonel was packed off on the eight o'clock boat the next morning;but his recovery did not prevent Corey from repeating his visit in aweek. This time Irene came radiantly up to Penelope's room, where shehad again withdrawn herself. "You must come down, Pen, " she said. "He's asked if you're not well, and mamma says you've got to come. "

After that Penelope helped Irene through with her calls, and talkedthem over with her far into the night after Corey was gone. But whenthe impatient curiosity of her mother pressed her for some opinion ofthe affair, she said, "You know as much as I do, mother. "

"Don't he ever say anything to you about her--praise her up, any?"

"He's never mentioned Irene to me. "

"He hasn't to me, either, " said Mrs. Lapham, with a sigh of trouble. "Then what makes him keep coming?"

"I can't tell you. One thing, he says there isn't a house open inBoston where he's acquainted. Wait till some of his friends get back, and then if he keeps coming, it'll be time to inquire. "

"Well!" said the mother; but as the weeks passed she was less and lessable to attribute Corey's visits to his loneliness in town, and turnedto her husband for comfort. 

"Silas, I don't know as we ought to let young Corey keep coming so. Idon't quite like it, with all his family away. "

"He's of age, " said the Colonel. "He can go where he pleases. Itdon't matter whether his family's here or not. "

"Yes, but if they don't want he should come? Should you feel just rightabout letting him?"

"How're you going to stop him? I swear, Persis, I don't know what's gotover you! What is it? You didn't use to be so. But to hear you talk, you'd think those Coreys were too good for this world, and we wa'n'tfit for 'em to walk on. "

"I'm not going to have 'em say we took an advantage of their being awayand tolled him on. "

"I should like to HEAR 'em say it!" cried Lapham. "Or anybody!"

"Well, " said his wife, relinquishing this point of anxiety, "I can'tmake out whether he cares anything for her or not. And Pen can't telleither; or else she won't. "

"Oh, I guess he cares for her, fast enough, " said the Colonel. 

"I can't make out that he's said or done the first thing to show it. "

"Well, I was better than a year getting my courage up. "

"Oh, that was different, " said Mrs. Lapham, in contemptuous dismissalof the comparison, and yet with a certain fondness. "I guess, if hecared for her, a fellow in his position wouldn't be long getting up hiscourage to speak to Irene. "

Lapham brought his fist down on the table between them. 

"Look here, Persis! Once for all, now, don't you ever let me hear yousay anything like that again! I'm worth nigh on to a million, and I'vemade it every cent myself; and my girls are the equals of anybody, Idon't care who it is. He ain't the fellow to take on any airs; but ifhe ever tries it with me, I'll send him to the right about mightyquick. I'll have a talk with him, if----"

"No, no; don't do that!" implored his wife. "I didn't mean anything. I don't know as I meant ANYthing. He's just as unassuming as he canbe, and I think Irene's a match for anybody. You just let things goon. It'll be all right. You never can tell how it is with youngpeople. Perhaps SHE'S offish. Now you ain't--you ain't going to sayanything?"

Lapham suffered himself to be persuaded, the more easily, no doubt, because after his explosion he must have perceived that his prideitself stood in the way of what his pride had threatened. He contentedhimself with his wife's promise that she would never again present thatoffensive view of the case, and she did not remain without a certainsupport in his sturdy self-assertion. 

XII. 

MRS. COREY returned with her daughters in the early days of October, having passed three or four weeks at Intervale after leaving BarHarbour. They were somewhat browner than they were when they left townin June, but they were not otherwise changed. Lily, the elder of thegirls, had brought back a number of studies of kelp and toadstools, with accessory rocks and rotten logs, which she would never finish upand never show any one, knowing the slightness of their merit. Nanny, the younger, had read a great many novels with a keen sense of theirinaccuracy as representations of life, and had seen a great deal oflife with a sad regret for its difference from fiction. They were bothnice girls, accomplished, well-dressed of course, and well enoughlooking; but they had met no one at the seaside or the mountains whomtheir taste would allow to influence their fate, and they had come hometo the occupations they had left, with no hopes and no fears todistract them. 

In the absence of these they were fitted to take the more vividinterest in their brother's affairs, which they could see weighed upontheir mother's mind after the first hours of greeting. 

"Oh, it seems to have been going on, and your father has never writtena word about it, " she said, shaking her head. 

"What good would it have done?" asked Nanny, who was little and fair, with rings of light hair that filled a bonnet-front very prettily; shelooked best in a bonnet. "It would only have worried you. He couldnot have stopped Tom; you couldn't, when you came home to do it. "

"I dare say papa didn't know much about it, " suggested Lily. She was atall, lean, dark girl, who looked as if she were not quite warm enough, and whom you always associated with wraps of different aesthetic effectafter you had once seen her. 

It is a serious matter always to the women of his family when a youngman gives them cause to suspect that he is interested in some otherwoman. A son-in-law or brother-in-law does not enter the family; heneed not be caressed or made anything of; but the son's or brother'swife has a claim upon his mother and sisters which they cannot deny. Some convention of their sex obliges them to show her affection, tolike or to seem to like her, to take her to their intimacy, howeverodious she may be to them. With the Coreys it was something more thanan affair of sentiment. They were by no means poor, and they were notdependent money-wise upon Tom Corey; but the mother had come, withoutknowing it, to rely upon his sense, his advice in everything, and thesisters, seeing him hitherto so indifferent to girls, had insensiblygrown to regard him as altogether their own till he should be released, not by his marriage, but by theirs, an event which had not approachedwith the lapse of time. Some kinds of girls--they believed that theycould readily have chosen a kind--might have taken him without takinghim from them; but this generosity could not be hoped for in such agirl as Miss Lapham. 

"Perhaps, " urged their mother, "it would not be so bad. She seemed anaffectionate little thing with her mother, without a great deal ofcharacter though she was so capable about some things. "

"Oh, she'll be an affectionate little thing with Tom too, you may besure, " said Nanny. "And that characterless capability becomes the mostin tense narrow-mindedness. She'll think we were against her from thebeginning. "

"She has no cause for that, " Lily interposed, "and we shall not giveher any. "

"Yes, we shall, " retorted Nanny. "We can't help it; and if we can't, her own ignorance would be cause enough. "

"I can't feel that she's altogether ignorant, " said Mrs. Corey justly. 

"Of course she can read and write, " admitted Nanny. 

"I can't imagine what he finds to talk about with her, " said Lily. 

"Oh, THAT'S very simple, " returned her sister. 

"They talk about themselves, with occasional references to each other. I have heard people 'going on' on the hotel piazzas. She'sembroidering, or knitting, or tatting, or something of that kind; andhe says she seems quite devoted to needlework, and she says, yes, shehas a perfect passion for it, and everybody laughs at her for it; butshe can't help it, she always was so from a child, and supposes shealways shall be, --with remote and minute particulars. And she ends bysaying that perhaps he does not like people to tat, or knit, orembroider, or whatever. And he says, oh, yes, he does; what could makeher think such a thing? but for his part he likes boating ratherbetter, or if you're in the woods camping. Then she lets him take upone corner of her work, and perhaps touch her fingers; and thatencourages him to say that he supposes nothing could induce her to dropher work long enough to go down on the rocks, or out among thehuckleberry bushes; and she puts her head on one side, and says shedoesn't know really. And then they go, and he lies at her feet on therocks, or picks huckleberries and drops them in her lap, and they go ontalking about themselves, and comparing notes to see how they differfrom each other. And----"

"That will do, Nanny, " said her mother. 

Lily smiled autumnally. "Oh, disgusting!"

"Disgusting? Not at all!" protested her sister. "It's very amusingwhen you see it, and when you do it----"

"It's always a mystery what people see in each other, " observed Mrs. Corey severely. 

"Yes, " Nanny admitted, "but I don't know that there is much comfort forus in the application. " "No, there isn't, " said her mother. 

"The most that we can do is to hope for the best till we know theworst. Of course we shall make the best of the worst when it comes. "

"Yes, and perhaps it would not be so very bad. I was saying to yourfather when I was here in July that those things can always be managed. You must face them as if they were nothing out of the way, and try notto give any cause for bitterness among ourselves. "

"That's true. But I don't believe in too much resignation beforehand. It amounts to concession, " said Nanny. 

"Of course we should oppose it in all proper ways, " returned her mother. 

Lily had ceased to discuss the matter. In virtue of her artistictemperament, she was expected not to be very practical. It was hermother and her sister who managed, submitting to the advice and consentof Corey what they intended to do. 

"Your father wrote me that he had called on Colonel Lapham at his placeof business, " said Mrs. Corey, seizing her first chance of approachingthe subject with her son. 

"Yes, " said Corey. "A dinner was father's idea, but he came down to acall, at my suggestion. "

"Oh, " said Mrs. Corey, in a tone of relief, as if the statement threw anew light on the fact that Corey had suggested the visit. "He said solittle about it in his letter that I didn't know just how it cameabout. "

"I thought it was right they should meet, " explained the son, "and sodid father. I was glad that I suggested it, afterward; it wasextremely gratifying to Colonel Lapham. "

"Oh, it was quite right in every way. I suppose you have seensomething of the family during the summer. "

"Yes, a good deal. I've been down at Nantasket rather often. "

Mrs. Corey let her eyes droop. Then she asked: "Are they well?"

"Yes, except Lapham himself, now and then. I went down once or twiceto see him. He hasn't given himself any vacation this summer; he hassuch a passion for his business that I fancy he finds it hard beingaway from it at any time, and he's made his new house an excuse forstaying. "

"Oh yes, his house! Is it to be something fine?"

"Yes; it's a beautiful house. Seymour is doing it. "

"Then, of course, it will be very handsome. I suppose the young ladiesare very much taken up with it; and Mrs. Lapham. "

"Mrs. Lapham, yes. I don't think the young ladies care so much aboutit. "

"It must be for them. Aren't they ambitious?" asked Mrs. Corey, delicately feeling her way. 

Her son thought a while. Then he answered with a smile--

"No, I don't really think they are. They are unambitious, I shouldsay. " Mrs. Corey permitted herself a long breath. But her son added, "It's the parents who are ambitious for them, " and her respirationbecame shorter again. 

"Yes, " she said. 

"They're very simple, nice girls, " pursued Corey. "I think you'll likethe elder, when you come to know her. "

When you come to know her. The words implied an expectation that thetwo families were to be better acquainted. 

"Then she is more intellectual than her sister?" Mrs. Corey ventured. 

"Intellectual?" repeated her son. "No; that isn't the word, quite. Though she certainly has more mind. "

"The younger seemed very sensible. "

"Oh, sensible, yes. And as practical as she's pretty. She can do allsorts of things, and likes to be doing them. Don't you think she's anextraordinary beauty?"

"Yes--yes, she is, " said Mrs. Corey, at some cost. 

"She's good, too, " said Corey, "and perfectly innocent and transparent. I think you will like her the better the more you know her. "

"I thought her very nice from the beginning, " said the motherheroically; and then nature asserted itself in her. "But I should beafraid that she might perhaps be a little bit tiresome at last; herrange of ideas seemed so extremely limited. "

"Yes, that's what I was afraid of. But, as a matter of fact, sheisn't. She interests you by her very limitations. You can see theworking of her mind, like that of a child. She isn't at all consciouseven of her beauty. "

"I don't believe young men can tell whether girls are conscious ornot, " said Mrs. Corey. "But I am not saying the Miss Laphams arenot----" Her son sat musing, with an inattentive smile on his face. "What is it?"

"Oh! nothing. I was thinking of Miss Lapham and something she wassaying. She's very droll, you know. "

"The elder sister? Yes, you told me that. Can you see the workings ofher mind too?"

"No; she's everything that's unexpected. " Corey fell into anotherreverie, and smiled again; but he did not offer to explain what amusedhim, and his mother would not ask. 

"I don't know what to make of his admiring the girl so frankly, " shesaid afterward to her husband. "That couldn't come naturally tillafter he had spoken to her, and I feel sure that he hasn't yet. "

"You women haven't risen yet--it's an evidence of the backwardness ofyour sex--to a conception of the Bismarck idea in diplomacy. If a manpraises one woman, you still think he's in love with another. Do youmean that because Tom didn't praise the elder sister so much, he HASspoken to HER?"

Mrs. Corey refused the consequence, saying that it did not follow. "Besides, he did praise her. "

"You ought to be glad that matters are in such good shape, then. Atany rate, you can do absolutely nothing. "

"Oh! I know it, " sighed Mrs. Corey. "I wish Tom would be a littleopener with me. "

"He's as open as it's in the nature of an American-born son to be withhis parents. I dare say if you'd asked him plumply what he meant inregard to the young lady, he would have told you--if he knew. "

"Why, don't you think he does know, Bromfield?"

"I'm not at all sure he does. You women think that because a young mandangles after a girl, or girls, he's attached to them. It doesn't atall follow. He dangles because he must, and doesn't know what to dowith his time, and because they seem to like it. I dare say that Tomhas dangled a good deal in this instance because there was nobody elsein town. "

"Do you really think so?"

"I throw out the suggestion. And it strikes me that a young ladycouldn't do better than stay in or near Boston during the summer. Mostof the young men are here, kept by business through the week, withevenings available only on the spot, or a few miles off. What was theproportion of the sexes at the seashore and the mountains?"

"Oh, twenty girls at least for even an excuse of a man. It's shameful. "

"You see, I am right in one part of my theory. Why shouldn't I beright in the rest?"

"I wish you were. And yet I can't say that I do. Those things arevery serious with girls. I shouldn't like Tom to have been going tosee those people if he meant nothing by it. "

"And you wouldn't like it if he did. You are difficult, my dear. " Herhusband pulled an open newspaper toward him from the table. 

"I feel that it wouldn't be at all like him to do so, " said Mrs. Corey, going on to entangle herself in her words, as women often do when theirideas are perfectly clear. "Don't go to reading, please, Bromfield! Iam really worried about this matter I must know how much it means. Ican't let it go on so. I don't see how you can rest easy withoutknowing. "

"I don't in the least know what's going to become of me when I die; andyet I sleep well, " replied Bromfield Corey, putting his newspaper aside. 

"Ah! but this is a very different thing. "

"So much more serious? Well, what can you do? We had this out when youwere here in the summer, and you agreed with me then that we could donothing. The situation hasn't changed at all. "

"Yes, it has; it has continued the same, " said Mrs. Corey, againexpressing the fact by a contradiction in terms. "I think I must askTom outright. "

"You know you can't do that, my dear. "

"Then why doesn't he tell us?"

"Ah, that's what HE can't do, if he's making love to Miss Irene--that'sher name, I believe--on the American plan. He will tell us after hehas told HER. That was the way I did. Don't ignore our own youth, Anna. It was a long while ago, I'll admit. "

"It was very different, " said Mrs. Corey, a little shaken. 

"I don't see how. I dare say Mamma Lapham knows whether Tom is in lovewith her daughter or not; and no doubt Papa Lapham knows it at secondhand. But we shall not know it until the girl herself does. Dependupon that. Your mother knew, and she told your father; but my poorfather knew nothing about it till we were engaged; and I had beenhanging about--dangling, as you call it----"

"No, no; YOU called it that. "

"Was it I?--for a year or more. "

The wife could not refuse to be a little consoled by the image of heryoung love which the words conjured up, however little she liked itsrelation to her son's interest in Irene Lapham. She smiled pensively. "Then you think it hasn't come to an understanding with them yet?"

"An understanding? Oh, probably. "

"An explanation, then?"

"The only logical inference from what we've been saying is that ithasn't. But I don't ask you to accept it on that account. May I readnow, my dear?"

"Yes, you may read now, " said Mrs. Corey, with one of those sighs whichperhaps express a feminine sense of the unsatisfactoriness of husbandsin general, rather than a personal discontent with her own. 

"Thank you, my dear; then I think I'll smoke too, " said BromfieldCorey, lighting a cigar. 

She left him in peace, and she made no further attempt upon her son'sconfidence. But she was not inactive for that reason. She did not, ofcourse, admit to herself, and far less to others, the motive with whichshe went to pay an early visit to the Laphams, who had now come up fromNantasket to Nankeen Square. She said to her daughters that she hadalways been a little ashamed of using her acquaintance with them to getmoney for her charity, and then seeming to drop it. Besides, it seemedto her that she ought somehow to recognise the business relation thatTom had formed with the father; they must not think that his familydisapproved of what he had done. "Yes, business is business, " saidNanny, with a laugh. "Do you wish us to go with you again?"

"No; I will go alone this time, " replied the mother with dignity. 

Her coupe now found its way to Nankeen Square without difficulty, andshe sent up a card, which Mrs. Lapham received in the presence of herdaughter Penelope. 

"I presume I've got to see her, " she gasped. 

"Well, don't look so guilty, mother, " joked the girl; "you haven't beendoing anything so VERY wrong. "

"It seems as if I HAD. I don't know what's come over me. I wasn'tafraid of the woman before, but now I don't seem to feel as if I couldlook her in the face. He's been coming here of his own accord, and Ifought against his coming long enough, goodness knows. I didn't wanthim to come. And as far forth as that goes, we're as respectable asthey are; and your father's got twice their money, any day. We've noneed to go begging for their favour. I guess they were glad enough toget him in with your father. "

"Yes, those are all good points, mother, " said the girl; "and if youkeep saying them over, and count a hundred every time before you speak, I guess you'll worry through. "

Mrs. Lapham had been fussing distractedly with her hair and ribbons, inpreparation for her encounter with Mrs. Corey. She now drew in a longquivering breath, stared at her daughter without seeing her, andhurried downstairs. It was true that when she met Mrs. Corey beforeshe had not been awed by her; but since then she had learned at leasther own ignorance of the world, and she had talked over the things shehad misconceived and the things she had shrewdly guessed so much thatshe could not meet her on the former footing of equality. In spite ofas brave a spirit and as good a conscience as woman need have, Mrs. Lapham cringed inwardly, and tremulously wondered what her visitor hadcome for. She turned from pale to red, and was hardly coherent in hergreetings; she did not know how they got to where Mrs. Corey was sayingexactly the right things about her son's interest and satisfaction inhis new business, and keeping her eyes fixed on Mrs. Lapham's, readingher uneasiness there, and making her feel, in spite of her indignantinnocence, that she had taken a base advantage of her in her absence toget her son away from her and marry him to Irene. Then, presently, while this was painfully revolving itself in Mrs. Lapham's mind, shewas aware of Mrs. Corey's asking if she was not to have the pleasure ofseeing Miss Irene. 

"No; she's out, just now, " said Mrs. Lapham. "I don't know just whenshe'll be in. She went to get a book. " And here she turned red again, knowing that Irene had gone to get the book because it was one thatCorey had spoken of. 

"Oh! I'm sorry, " said Mrs. Corey. "I had hoped to see her. And yourother daughter, whom I never met?"

"Penelope?" asked Mrs. Lapham, eased a little. "She is at home. Iwill go and call her. " The Laphams had not yet thought of spendingtheir superfluity on servants who could be rung for; they kept twogirls and a man to look after the furnace, as they had for the last tenyears. If Mrs. Lapham had rung in the parlour, her second girl wouldhave gone to the street door to see who was there. She went upstairsfor Penelope herself, and the girl, after some rebellious derision, returned with her. 

Mrs. Corey took account of her, as Penelope withdrew to the other sideof the room after their introduction, and sat down, indolentlysubmissive on the surface to the tests to be applied, and followingMrs. Corey's lead of the conversation in her odd drawl. 

"You young ladies will be glad to be getting into your new house, " shesaid politely. 

"I don't know, " said Penelope. "We're so used to this one. "

Mrs. Corey looked a little baffled, but she said sympathetically, "Ofcourse, you will be sorry to leave your old home. "

Mrs. Lapham could not help putting in on behalf of her daughters: "Iguess if it was left to the girls to say, we shouldn't leave it at all. "

"Oh, indeed!" said Mrs. Corey; "are they so much attached? But I canquite understand it. My children would be heart-broken too if we wereto leave the old place. " She turned to Penelope. "But you must thinkof the lovely new house, and the beautiful position. "

"Yes, I suppose we shall get used to them too, " said Penelope, inresponse to this didactic consolation. 

"Oh, I could even imagine your getting very fond of them, " pursued Mrs. Corey patronisingly. "My son has told me of the lovely outlook you'reto have over the water. He thinks you have such a beautiful house. Ibelieve he had the pleasure of meeting you all there when he first camehome. "

"Yes, I think he was our first visitor. "

"He is a great admirer of your house, " said Mrs. Corey, keeping hereyes very sharply, however politely, on Penelope's face, as if tosurprise there the secret of any other great admiration of her son'sthat might helplessly show itself. 

"Yes, " said the girl, "he's been there several times with father; andhe wouldn't be allowed to overlook any of its good points. "

Her mother took a little more courage from her daughter's tranquillity. 

"The girls make such fun of their father's excitement about hisbuilding, and the way he talks it into everybody. "

"Oh, indeed!" said Mrs. Corey, with civil misunderstanding and inquiry. 

Penelope flushed, and her mother went on: "I tell him he's more of achild about it than any of them. "

"Young people are very philosophical nowadays, " remarked Mrs. Corey. 

"Yes, indeed, " said Mrs. Lapham. "I tell them they've always hadeverything, so that nothing's a surprise to them. It was differentwith us in our young days. "

"Yes, " said Mrs. Corey, without assenting. 

"I mean the Colonel and myself, " explained Mrs. Lapham. 

"Oh yes--yes!" said Mrs. Corey. 

"I'm sure, " the former went on, rather helplessly, "we had to work hardenough for everything we got. And so we appreciated it. "

"So many things were not done for young people then, " said Mrs. Corey, not recognising the early-hardships standpoint of Mrs. Lapham. "But Idon't know that they are always the better for it now, " she addedvaguely, but with the satisfaction we all feel in uttering a justcommonplace. 

"It's rather hard living up to blessings that you've always had, " saidPenelope. 

"Yes, " replied Mrs. Corey distractedly, and coming back to her slowlyfrom the virtuous distance to which she had absented herself. Shelooked at the girl searchingly again, as if to determine whether thiswere a touch of the drolling her son had spoken of. But she onlyadded: "You will enjoy the sunsets on the Back Bay so much. " "Well, notunless they're new ones, " said Penelope. "I don't believe I couldpromise to enjoy any sunsets that I was used to, a great deal. "

Mrs. Corey looked at her with misgiving, hardening into dislike. "No, "she breathed vaguely. "My son spoke of the fine effect of the lightsabout the hotel from your cottage at Nantasket, " she said to Mrs. Lapham. 

"Yes, they're splendid!" exclaimed that lady. "I guess the girls wentdown every night with him to see them from the rocks. "

"Yes, " said Mrs. Corey, a little dryly; and she permitted herself toadd: "He spoke of those rocks. I suppose both you young ladies spend agreat deal of your time on them when you're there. At Nahant mychildren were constantly on them. "

"Irene likes the rocks, " said Penelope. "I don't care much aboutthem, --especially at night. "

"Oh, indeed! I suppose you find it quite as well looking at the lightscomfortably from the veranda. "

"No; you can't see them from the house. "

"Oh, " said Mrs. Corey. After a perceptible pause, she turned to Mrs. Lapham. "I don't know what my son would have done for a breath of seaair this summer, if you had not allowed him to come to Nantasket. Hewasn't willing to leave his business long enough to go anywhere else. "

"Yes, he's a born business man, " responded Mrs. Laphamenthusiastically. "If it's born in you, it's bound to come out. That's what the Colonel is always saying about Mr. Corey. He says it'sborn in him to be a business man, and he can't help it. " She recurredto Corey gladly because she felt that she had not said enough of himwhen his mother first spoke of his connection with the business. "Idon't believe, " she went on excitedly, "that Colonel Lapham has everhad anybody with him that he thought more of. "

"You have all been very kind to my son, " said Mrs. Corey inacknowledgment, and stiffly bowing a little, "and we feel greatlyindebted to you. Very much so. " At these grateful expressions Mrs. Lapham reddened once more, and murmured that it had been very pleasantto them, she was sure. She glanced at her daughter for support, butPenelope was looking at Mrs. Corey, who doubtless saw her from thecorner of her eyes, though she went on speaking to her mother. 

"I was sorry to hear from him that Mr. --Colonel?--Lapham had not beenquite well this summer. I hope he's better now?"

"Oh yes, indeed, " replied Mrs. Lapham; "he's all right now. He'shardly ever been sick, and he don't know how to take care of himself. That's all. We don't any of us; we're all so well. "

"Health is a great blessing, " sighed Mrs. Corey. 

"Yes, so it is. How is your oldest daughter?" inquired Mrs. Lapham. "Is she as delicate as ever?"

"She seems to be rather better since we returned. " And now Mrs. Corey, as if forced to the point, said bunglingly that the young ladies hadwished to come with her, but had been detained. She based herstatement upon Nanny's sarcastic demand; and, perhaps seeing it topplea little, she rose hastily, to get away from its fall. "But we shallhope for some--some other occasion, " she said vaguely, and she put on aparting smile, and shook hands with Mrs. Lapham and Penelope, and then, after some lingering commonplaces, got herself out of the house. 

Penelope and her mother were still looking at each other, and trying tograpple with the effect or purport of the visit, when Irene burst inupon them from the outside. 

"O mamma! wasn't that Mrs. Corey's carriage just drove away?"

Penelope answered with her laugh. "Yes! You've just missed the mostdelightful call, 'Rene. So easy and pleasant every way. Not a bitstiff! Mrs. Corey was so friendly! She didn't make one feel at all asif she'd bought me, and thought she'd given too much; and mother heldup her head as if she were all wool and a yard wide, and she would justlike to have anybody deny it. "

In a few touches of mimicry she dashed off a sketch of the scene: hermother's trepidation, and Mrs. Corey's well-bred repose and politescrutiny of them both. She ended by showing how she herself had sathuddled up in a dark corner, mute with fear. 

"If she came to make us say and do the wrong thing, she must have goneaway happy; and it's a pity you weren't here to help, Irene. I don'tknow that I aimed to make a bad impression, but I guess Isucceeded--even beyond my deserts. " She laughed; then suddenly sheflashed out in fierce earnest. "If I missed doing anything that couldmake me as hateful to her as she made herself to me----" She checkedherself, and began to laugh. Her laugh broke, and the tears startedinto her eyes; she ran out of the room, and up the stairs. 

"What--what does it mean?" asked Irene in a daze. 

Mrs. Lapham was still in the chilly torpor to which Mrs. Corey's callhad reduced her. Penelope's vehemence did not rouse her. She onlyshook her head absently, and said, "I don't know. "

"Why should Pen care what impression she made? I didn't suppose itwould make any difference to her whether Mrs. Corey liked her or not. "

"I didn't, either. But I could see that she was just as nervous as shecould be, every minute of the time. I guess she didn't like Mrs. Coreyany too well from the start, and she couldn't seem to act like herself. "

"Tell me about it, mamma, " said Irene, dropping into a chair. 

Mrs. Corey described the interview to her husband on her return home. "Well, and what are your inferences?" he asked. 

"They were extremely embarrassed and excited--that is, the mother. Idon't wish to do her injustice, but she certainly behaved consciously. "

"You made her feel so, I dare say, Anna. I can imagine how terribleyou must have been in the character of an accusing spirit, toolady-like to say anything. What did you hint?"

"I hinted nothing, " said Mrs. Corey, descending to the weakness ofdefending herself. "But I saw quite enough to convince me that thegirl is in love with Tom, and the mother knows it. "

"That was very unsatisfactory. I supposed you went to find out whetherTom was in love with the girl. Was she as pretty as ever?"

"I didn't see her; she was not at home; I saw her sister. "

"I don't know that I follow you quite, Anna. But no matter. What wasthe sister like?"

"A thoroughly disagreeable young woman. "

"What did she do?"

"Nothing. She's far too sly for that. But that was the impression. "

"Then you didn't find her so amusing as Tom does?"

"I found her pert. There's no other word for it. She says things topuzzle you and put you out. "

"Ah, that was worse than pert, Anna; that was criminal. Well, let usthank heaven the younger one is so pretty. "

Mrs. Corey did not reply directly. "Bromfield, " she said, after amoment of troubled silence, "I have been thinking over your plan, and Idon't see why it isn't the right thing. "

"What is my plan?" inquired Bromfield Corey. 

"A dinner. "

Her husband began to laugh. "Ah, you overdid the accusing-spiritbusiness, and this is reparation. " But Mrs. Corey hurried on, withcombined dignity and anxiety--

"We can't ignore Tom's intimacy with them--it amounts to that; it willprobably continue even if it's merely a fancy, and we must seem to knowit; whatever comes of it, we can't disown it. They are very simple, unfashionable people, and unworldly; but I can't say that they areoffensive, unless--unless, " she added, in propitiation of her husband'ssmile, "unless the father--how did you find the father?" she implored. 

"He will be very entertaining, " said Corey, "if you start him on hispaint. What was the disagreeable daughter like? Shall you have her?"

"She's little and dark. We must have them all, " Mrs. Corey sighed. "Then you don't think a dinner would do?"

"Oh yes, I do. As you say, we can't disown Tom's relation to them, whatever it is. We had much better recognise it, and make the best ofthe inevitable. I think a Lapham dinner would be delightful. " Helooked at her with delicate irony in his voice and smile, and shefetched another sigh, so deep and sore now that he laughed outright. "Perhaps, " he suggested, "it would be the best way of curing Tom of hisfancy, if he has one. He has been seeing her with the dangerousadvantages which a mother knows how to give her daughter in the familycircle, and with no means of comparing her with other girls. You mustinvite several other very pretty girls. "

"Do you really think so, Bromfield?" asked Mrs. Corey, taking courage alittle. "That might do, " But her spirits visibly sank again. "I don'tknow any other girl half so pretty. "

"Well, then, better bred. "

"She is very lady-like, very modest, and pleasing. "

"Well, more cultivated. "

"Tom doesn't get on with such people. "

"Oh, you wish him to marry her, I see. "

"No, no. "

"Then you'd better give the dinner to bring them together, to promotethe affair. "

"You know I don't want to do that, Bromfield. But I feel that we mustdo something. If we don't, it has a clandestine appearance. It isn'tjust to them. A dinner won't leave us in any worse position, and mayleave us in a better. Yes, " said Mrs. Corey, after another thoughtfulinterval, "we must have them--have them all. It could be very simple. "

"Ah, you can't give a dinner under a bushel, if I take your meaning, mydear. If we do this at all, we mustn't do it as if we were ashamed ofit. We must ask people to meet them. "

"Yes, " sighed Mrs. Corey. "There are not many people in town yet, " sheadded, with relief that caused her husband another smile. "Therereally seems a sort of fatality about it, " she concluded religiously. 

"Then you had better not struggle against it. Go and reconcile Lilyand Nanny to it as soon as possible. "

Mrs. Corey blanched a little. "But don't you think it will be the bestthing, Bromfield?"

"I do indeed, my dear. The only thing that shakes my faith in thescheme is the fact that I first suggested it. But if you have adoptedit, it must be all right, Anna. I can't say that I expected it. "

"No, " said his wife, "it wouldn't do. "

XIII. 

HAVING distinctly given up the project of asking the Laphams to dinner, Mrs. Corey was able to carry it out with the courage of sinners whohave sacrificed to virtue by frankly acknowledging its superiority totheir intended transgression. She did not question but the Laphamswould come; and she only doubted as to the people whom she shouldinvite to meet them. She opened the matter with some trepidation toher daughters, but neither of them opposed her; they rather looked atthe scheme from her own point of view, and agreed with her that nothinghad really yet been done to wipe out the obligation to the Laphamshelplessly contracted the summer before, and strengthened by thatill-advised application to Mrs. Lapham for charity. Not only theprincipal of their debt of gratitude remained, but the accruinginterest. They said, What harm could giving the dinner possibly dothem? They might ask any or all of their acquaintance withoutdisadvantage to themselves; but it would be perfectly easy to give thedinner just the character they chose, and still flatter the ignoranceof the Laphams. The trouble would be with Tom, if he were reallyinterested in the girl; but he could not say anything if they made it afamily dinner; he could not feel anything. They had each turned in herown mind, as it appeared from a comparison of ideas, to one of the mostcomprehensive of those cousinships which form the admiration and terrorof the adventurer in Boston society. He finds himself hemmed in andleft out at every turn by ramifications that forbid him all hope ofsafe personality in his comments on people; he is never less securethan when he hears some given Bostonian denouncing or ridiculinganother. If he will be advised, he will guard himself from concurringin these criticisms, however just they appear, for the probability isthat their object is a cousin of not more than one remove from thecensor. When the alien hears a group of Boston ladies calling oneanother, and speaking of all their gentlemen friends, by the familiarabbreviations of their Christian names, he must feel keenly the exileto which he was born; but he is then, at least, in comparatively littledanger; while these latent and tacit cousinships open pitfalls at everystep around him, in a society where Middlesexes have married Essexesand produced Suffolks for two hundred and fifty years. 

These conditions, however, so perilous to the foreigner, are a sourceof strength and security to those native to them. An uncertainacquaintance may be so effectually involved in the meshes of such acousinship, as never to be heard of outside of it and tremendousstories are told of people who have spent a whole winter in Boston, ina whirl of gaiety, and who, the original guests of the Suffolks, discover upon reflection that they have met no one but Essexes andMiddlesexes. 

Mrs. Corey's brother James came first into her mind, and she thoughtwith uncommon toleration of the easy-going, uncritical, good-nature ofhis wife. James Bellingham had been the adviser of her son throughout, and might be said to have actively promoted his connection with Lapham. She thought next of the widow of her cousin, Henry Bellingham, who hadlet her daughter marry that Western steamboat man, and was fond of herson-in-law; she might be expected at least to endure the paint-king andhis family. The daughters insisted so strongly upon Mrs. Bellingham'sson Charles, that Mrs. Corey put him down--if he were in town; he mightbe in Central America; he got on with all sorts of people. It seemedto her that she might stop at this: four Laphams, five Coreys, and fourBellinghams were enough. 

"That makes thirteen, " said Nanny. "You can have Mr. And Mrs. Sewell. "

"Yes, that is a good idea, " assented Mrs. Corey. "He is our minister, and it is very proper. "

"I don't see why you don't have Robert Chase. It is a pity heshouldn't see her--for the colour. "

"I don't quite like the idea of that, " said Mrs. Corey; "but we canhave him too, if it won't make too many. " The painter had married intoa poorer branch of the Coreys, and his wife was dead. "Is there anyone else?"

"There is Miss Kingsbury. "

"We have had her so much. She will begin to think we are using her. "

"She won't mind; she's so good-natured. "

"Well, then, " the mother summed up, "there are four Laphams, fiveCoreys, four Bellinghams, one Chase, and one Kingsbury--fifteen. Oh!and two Sewells. Seventeen. Ten ladies and seven gentlemen. Itdoesn't balance very well, and it's too large. "

"Perhaps some of the ladies won't come, " suggested Lily. 

"Oh, the ladies always come, " said Nanny. 

Their mother reflected. "Well, I will ask them. The ladies willrefuse in time to let us pick up some gentlemen somewhere; some moreartists. Why! we must have Mr. Seymour, the architect; he's abachelor, and he's building their house, Tom says. "

Her voice fell a little when she mentioned her son's name, and she toldhim of her plan, when he came home in the evening, with evidentmisgiving. 

"What are you doing it for, mother?" he asked, looking at her with hishonest eyes. 

She dropped her own in a little confusion. "I won't do it at all, mydear, " she said, "if you don't approve. But I thought--You know wehave never made any proper acknowledgment of their kindness to us atBaie St. Paul. Then in the winter, I'm ashamed to say, I got moneyfrom her for a charity I was interested in; and I hate the idea ofmerely USING people in that way. And now your having been at theirhouse this summer--we can't seem to disapprove of that; and yourbusiness relations to him----"

"Yes, I see, " said Corey. "Do you think it amounts to a dinner?"

"Why, I don't know, " returned his mother. "We shall have hardly anyone out of our family connection. "

"Well, " Corey assented, "it might do. I suppose what you wish is togive them a pleasure. "

"Why, certainly. Don't you think they'd like to come?"

"Oh, they'd like to come; but whether it would be a pleasure after theywere here is another thing. I should have said that if you wanted tohave them, they would enjoy better being simply asked to meet our ownimmediate family. "

"That's what I thought of in the first place, but your father seemed tothink it implied a social distrust of them; and we couldn't afford tohave that appearance, even to ourselves. "

"Perhaps he was right. "

"And besides, it might seem a little significant. "

Corey seemed inattentive to this consideration. "Whom did you think ofasking?" His mother repeated the names. "Yes, that would do, " he said, with a vague dissatisfaction. 

"I won't have it at all, if you don't wish, Tom. "

"Oh yes, have it; perhaps you ought. Yes, I dare say it's right. Whatdid you mean by a family dinner seeming significant?"

His mother hesitated. When it came to that, she did not like torecognise in his presence the anxieties that had troubled her. But "Idon't know, " she said, since she must. "I shouldn't want to give thatyoung girl, or her mother, the idea that we wished to make more of theacquaintance than--than you did, Tom. "

He looked at her absent-mindedly, as if he did not take her meaning. But he said, "Oh yes, of course, " and Mrs. Corey, in the uncertainty inwhich she seemed destined to remain concerning this affair, went offand wrote her invitation to Mrs. Lapham. Later in the evening, whenthey again found themselves alone, her son said, "I don't think Iunderstood you, mother, in regard to the Laphams. I think I do now. Icertainly don't wish you to make more of the acquaintance than I havedone. It wouldn't be right; it might be very unfortunate. Don't givethe dinner!"

"It's too late now, my son, " said Mrs. Corey. "I sent my note to Mrs. Lapham an hour ago. " Her courage rose at the trouble which showed inCorey's face. "But don't be annoyed by it, Tom. It isn't a familydinner, you know, and everything can be managed without embarrassment. If we take up the affair at this point, you will seem to have beenmerely acting for us; and they can't possibly understand anything more. "

"Well, well! Let it go! I dare say it's all right At any rate, it can'tbe helped now. "

"I don't wish to help it, Tom, " said Mrs. Corey, with a cheerfullnesswhich the thought of the Laphams had never brought her before. "I amsure it is quite fit and proper, and we can make them have a verypleasant time. They are good, inoffensive people, and we owe it toourselves not to be afraid to show that we have felt their kindness tous, and his appreciation of you. "

"Well, " consented Corey. The trouble that his mother had suddenly castoff was in his tone; but she was not sorry. It was quite time that heshould think seriously of his attitude toward these people if he hadnot thought of it before, but, according to his father's theory, hadbeen merely dangling. 

It was a view of her son's character that could hardly have pleased herin different circumstances, yet it was now unquestionably a consolationif not wholly a pleasure. If she considered the Laphams at all, it waswith the resignation which we feel at the evils of others, even whenthey have not brought them on themselves. 

Mrs. Lapham, for her part, had spent the hours between Mrs. Corey'svisit and her husband's coming home from business in reaching the sameconclusion with regard to Corey; and her spirits were at the lowestwhen they sat down to supper. Irene was downcast with her; Penelopewas purposely gay; and the Colonel was beginning, after his first plateof the boiled ham, --which, bristling with cloves, rounded its bulk on awide platter before him, --to take note of the surrounding mood, whenthe door-bell jingled peremptorily, and the girl left waiting on thetable to go and answer it. She returned at once with a note for Mrs. Lapham, which she read, and then, after a helpless survey of herfamily, read again. 

"Why, what IS it, mamma?" asked Irene, while the Colonel, who had takenup his carving-knife for another attack on the ham, held it drawn halfacross it. 

"Why, I don't know what it does mean, " answered Mrs. Laphamtremulously, and she let the girl take the note from her. 

Irene ran it over, and then turned to the name at the end with a joyfulcry and a flush that burned to the top of her forehead. Then she beganto read it once more. 

The Colonel dropped his knife and frowned impatiently, and Mrs. Laphamsaid, "You read it out loud, if you know what to make of it, Irene. "But Irene, with a nervous scream of protest, handed it to her father, who performed the office. 

"DEAR MRS. LAPHAM:

"Will you and General Lapham----"

"I didn't know I was a general, " grumbled Lapham. "I guess I shallhave to be looking up my back pay. Who is it writes this, anyway?" heasked, turning the letter over for the signature. 

"Oh, never mind. Read it through!" cried his wife, with a kindlingglance of triumph at Penelope, and he resumed--

"--and your daughters give us the pleasure of your company at dinner onThursday, the 28th, at half-past six. 

"Yours sincerely, "ANNA B. COREY. "

The brief invitation had been spread over two pages, and the Colonelhad difficulties with the signature which he did not instantlysurmount. When he had made out the name and pronounced it, he lookedacross at his wife for an explanation. 

"I don't know what it all means, " she said, shaking her head andspeaking with a pleased flutter. "She was here this afternoon, and Ishould have said she had come to see how bad she could make us feel. Ideclare I never felt so put down in my life by anybody. "

"Why, what did she do? What did she say?" Lapham was ready, in hisdense pride, to resent any affront to his blood, but doubtful, with theevidence of this invitation to the contrary, if any affront had beenoffered. Mrs. Lapham tried to tell him, but there was really nothingtangible; and when she came to put it into words, she could not makeout a case. Her husband listened to her excited attempt, and then hesaid, with judicial superiority, "I guess nobody's been trying to makeyou feel bad, Persis. What would she go right home and invite you todinner for, if she'd acted the way you say?"

In this view it did seem improbable, and Mrs. Lapham was shaken. Shecould only say, "Penelope felt just the way I did about it. "

Lapham looked at the girl, who said, "Oh, I can't prove it! I begin tothink it never happened. I guess it didn't. "

"Humph!" said her father, and he sat frowning thoughtfully awhile--ignoring her mocking irony, or choosing to take her seriously. "You can't really put your finger on anything, " he said to his wife, "and it ain't likely there is anything. Anyway, she's done the properthing by you now. "

Mrs. Lapham faltered between her lingering resentment and the appealsof her flattered vanity. She looked from Penelope's impassive face tothe eager eyes of Irene. "Well--just as you say, Silas. I don't knowas she WAS so very bad. I guess may be she was embarrassed some----"

"That's what I told you, mamma, from the start, " interrupted Irene. "Didn't I tell you she didn't mean anything by it? It's just the wayshe acted at Baie St. Paul, when she got well enough to realise whatyou'd done for her!"

Penelope broke into a laugh. "Is that her way of showing hergratitude? I'm sorry I didn't understand that before. "

Irene made no effort to reply. She merely looked from her mother toher father with a grieved face for their protection, and Lapham said, "When we've done supper, you answer her, Persis. Say we'll come. "

"With one exception, " said Penelope. 

"What do you mean?" demanded her father, with a mouth full of ham. "Oh, nothing of importance. Merely that I'm not going. "

Lapham gave himself time to swallow his morsel, and his rising wrathwent down with it. "I guess you'll change your mind when the timecomes, " he said. "Anyway, Persis, you say we'll all come, and then, ifPenelope don't want to go, you can excuse her after we get there. That's the best way. "

None of them, apparently, saw any reason why the affair should not beleft in this way, or had a sense of the awful and binding nature of adinner engagement. If she believed that Penelope would not finallychange her mind and go, no doubt Mrs. Lapham thought that Mrs. Coreywould easily excuse her absence. She did not find it so simple amatter to accept the invitation. Mrs. Corey had said "Dear Mrs. Lapham, " but Mrs. Lapham had her doubts whether it would not be aservile imitation to say "Dear Mrs. Corey" in return; and she wastormented as to the proper phrasing throughout and the precisetemperature which she should impart to her politeness. She wrote anunpractised, uncharacteristic round hand, the same in which she used toset the children's copies at school, and she subscribed herself, aftersome hesitation between her husband's given name and her own, "Yourstruly, Mrs. S. Lapham. "

Penelope had gone to her room, without waiting to be asked to advise orcriticise; but Irene had decided upon the paper, and on the whole, Mrs. Lapham's note made a very decent appearance on the page. 

When the furnace-man came, the Colonel sent him out to post it in thebox at the corner of the square. He had determined not to say anythingmore about the matter before the girls, not choosing to let them seethat he was elated; he tried to give the effect of its being aneveryday sort of thing, abruptly closing the discussion with his orderto Mrs. Lapham to accept; but he had remained swelling behind hisnewspaper during her prolonged struggle with her note, and he could nolonger hide his elation when Irene followed her sister upstairs. 

"Well, Pers, " he demanded, "what do you say now?"

Mrs. Lapham had been sobered into something of her former misgiving byher difficulties with her note. "Well, I don't know what TO say. Ideclare, I'm all mixed up about it, and I don't know as we've begun aswe can carry out in promising to go. I presume, " she sighed, "that wecan all send some excuse at the last moment, if we don't want to go. "

"I guess we can carry out, and I guess we shan't want to send anyexcuse, " bragged the Colonel. "If we're ever going to be anybody atall, we've got to go and see how it's done. I presume we've got togive some sort of party when we get into the new house, and this givesthe chance to ask 'em back again. You can't complain now but whatthey've made the advances, Persis?"

"No, " said Mrs. Lapham lifelessly; "I wonder why they wanted to do it. Oh, I suppose it's all right, " she added in deprecation of the angerwith her humility which she saw rising in her husband's face; "but ifit's all going to be as much trouble as that letter, I'd rather bewhipped. I don't know what I'm going to wear; or the girls either. Ido wonder--I've heard that people go to dinner in low-necks. Do yousuppose it's the custom?"

"How should I know?" demanded the Colonel. "I guess you've got clothesenough. Any rate, you needn't fret about it. You just go round toWhite's or Jordan & Marsh's, and ask for a dinner dress. I guessthat'll settle it; they'll know. Get some of them imported dresses. Isee 'em in the window every time I pass; lots of 'em. "

"Oh, it ain't the dress!" said Mrs. Lapham. "I don't suppose but whatwe could get along with that; and I want to do the best we can for thechildren; but I don't know what we're going to talk about to thosepeople when we get there. We haven't got anything in common with them. Oh, I don't say they're any better, " she again made haste to say inarrest of her husband's resentment. "I don't believe they are; and Idon't see why they should be. And there ain't anybody has got a betterright to hold up their head than you have, Silas. You've got plenty ofmoney, and you've made every cent of it. "

"I guess I shouldn't amounted to much without you, Persis, " interposedLapham, moved to this justice by her praise. 

"Oh, don't talk about ME!" protested the wife. "Now that you've madeit all right about Rogers, there ain't a thing in this world againstyou. But still, for all that, I can see--and I can feel it when Ican't see it--that we're different from those people. They'rewell-meaning enough, and they'd excuse it, I presume, but we're too oldto learn to be like them. "

"The children ain't, " said Lapham shrewdly. 

"No, the children ain't, " admitted his wife, "and that's the only thingthat reconciles me to it. "

"You see how pleased Irene looked when I read it?"

"Yes, she was pleased. "

"And I guess Penelope'll think better of it before the time comes. "

"Oh yes, we do it for them. But whether we're doing the best thing for'em, goodness knows. I'm not saying anything against HIM. Irene'll bea lucky girl to get him, if she wants him. But there! I'd ten timesrather she was going to marry such a fellow as you were, Si, that hadto make every inch of his own way, and she had to help him. It's inher!"

Lapham laughed aloud for pleasure in his wife's fondness; but neitherof them wished that he should respond directly to it. "I guess, if itwa'n't for me, he wouldn't have a much easier time. But don't youfret! It's all coming out right. That dinner ain't a thing for you tobe uneasy about. It'll pass off perfectly easy and natural. "

Lapham did not keep his courageous mind quite to the end of the weekthat followed. It was his theory not to let Corey see that he was setup about the invitation, and when the young man said politely that hismother was glad they were able to come, Lapham was very short with him. He said yes, he believed that Mrs. Lapham and the girls were going. Afterward he was afraid Corey might not understand that he was comingtoo; but he did not know how to approach the subject again, and Coreydid not, so he let it pass. It worried him to see all the preparationthat his wife and Irene were making, and he tried to laugh at them forit; and it worried him to find that Penelope was making no preparationat all for herself, but only helping the others. He asked her whatshould she do if she changed her mind at the last moment and concludedto go, and she said she guessed she should not change her mind, but ifshe did, she would go to White's with him and get him to choose her animported dress, he seemed to like them so much. He was too proud tomention the subject again to her. 

Finally, all that dress-making in the house began to scare him withvague apprehensions in regard to his own dress. As soon as he haddetermined to go, an ideal of the figure in which he should gopresented itself to his mind. He should not wear any dress-coat, because, for one thing, he considered that a man looked like a fool ina dress-coat, and, for another thing, he had none--had none onprinciple. He would go in a frock-coat and black pantaloons, andperhaps a white waistcoat, but a black cravat anyway. But as soon ashe developed this ideal to his family, which he did in pompous disdainof their anxieties about their own dress, they said he should not goso. Irene reminded him that he was the only person without adress-coat at a corps reunion dinner which he had taken her to someyears before, and she remembered feeling awfully about it at the time. Mrs. Lapham, who would perhaps have agreed of herself, shook her headwith misgiving. "I don't see but what you'll have to get you one, Si, "she said. "I don't believe they ever go without 'em to a privatehouse. "

He held out openly, but on his way home the next day, in a suddenpanic, he cast anchor before his tailor's door and got measured for adress-coat. After that he began to be afflicted about his waist-coat, concerning which he had hitherto been airily indifferent. He tried toget opinion out of his family, but they were not so clear about it asthey were about the frock. It ended in their buying a book ofetiquette, which settled the question adversely to a white waistcoat. The author, however, after being very explicit in telling them not toeat with their knives, and above all not to pick their teeth with theirforks, --a thing which he said no lady or gentleman ever did, --was stillfar from decided as to the kind of cravat Colonel Lapham ought to wear:shaken on other points, Lapham had begun to waver also concerning theblack cravat. As to the question of gloves for the Colonel, whichsuddenly flashed upon him one evening, it appeared never to haveentered the thoughts of the etiquette man, as Lapham called him. Otherauthors on the same subject were equally silent, and Irene could onlyremember having heard, in some vague sort of way, that gentlemen didnot wear gloves so much any more. 

Drops of perspiration gathered on Lapham's forehead in the anxiety ofthe debate; he groaned, and he swore a little in the compromiseprofanity which he used. 

"I declare, " said Penelope, where she sat purblindly sewing on a bit ofdress for Irene, "the Colonel's clothes are as much trouble asanybody's. Why don't you go to Jordan & Marsh's and order one of theimported dresses for yourself, father?" That gave them all the reliefof a laugh over it, the Colonel joining in piteously. 

He had an awful longing to find out from Corey how he ought to go. Heformulated and repeated over to himself an apparently carelessquestion, such as, "Oh, by the way, Corey, where do you get yourgloves?" This would naturally lead to some talk on the subject, whichwould, if properly managed, clear up the whole trouble. But Laphamfound that he would rather die than ask this question, or any questionthat would bring up the dinner again. Corey did not recur to it, andLapham avoided the matter with positive fierceness. He shunned talkingwith Corey at all, and suffered in grim silence. 

One night, before they fell asleep, his wife said to him, "I wasreading in one of those books to-day, and I don't believe but whatwe've made a mistake if Pen holds out that she won't go. "

"Why?" demanded Lapham, in the dismay which beset him at every freshrecurrence to the subject. 

"The book says that it's very impolite not to answer a dinnerinvitation promptly. Well, we've done that all right, --at first Ididn't know but what we had been a little too quick, may be, --but thenit says if you're not going, that it's the height of rudeness not tolet them know at once, so that they can fill your place at the table. "

The Colonel was silent for a while. "Well, I'm dumned, " he saidfinally, "if there seems to be any end to this thing. If it was to doover again, I'd say no for all of us. "

"I've wished a hundred times they hadn't asked us; but it's too late tothink about that now. The question is, what are we going to do aboutPenelope?"

"Oh, I guess she'll go, at the last moment. "

"She says she won't. She took a prejudice against Mrs. Corey that day, and she can't seem to get over it. "

"Well, then, hadn't you better write in the morning, as soon as you'reup, that she ain't coming?"

Mrs. Lapham sighed helplessly. "I shouldn't know how to get it in. It's so late now; I don't see how I could have the face. "

"Well, then, she's got to go, that's all. "

"She's set she won't. "

"And I'm set she shall, " said Lapham with the loud obstinacy of a manwhose women always have their way. 

Mrs. Lapham was not supported by the sturdiness of his proclamation. 

But she did not know how to do what she knew she ought to do aboutPenelope, and she let matters drift. After all, the child had a rightto stay at home if she did not wish to go. That was what Mrs. Laphamfelt, and what she said to her husband next morning, bidding him letPenelope alone, unless she chose herself to go. She said it was toolate now to do anything, and she must make the best excuse she couldwhen she saw Mrs. Corey. She began to wish that Irene and her fatherwould go and excuse her too. She could not help saying this, and thenshe and Lapham had some unpleasant words. 

"Look here!" he cried. "Who wanted to go in for these people in thefirst place? Didn't you come home full of 'em last year, and want me tosell out here and move somewheres else because it didn't seem to suit'em? And now you want to put it all on me! I ain't going to stand it. "

"Hush!" said his wife. "Do you want to raise the house? I didn't putit on you, as you say. You took it on yourself. Ever since thatfellow happened to come into the new house that day, you've beenperfectly crazy to get in with them. And now you're so afraid youshall do something wrong before 'em, you don't hardly dare to say yourlife's your own. I declare, if you pester me any more about thosegloves, Silas Lapham, I won't go. "

"Do you suppose I want to go on my own account?" he demanded furiously. 

"No, " she admitted. "Of course I don't. I know very well that you'redoing it for Irene; but, for goodness gracious' sake, don't worry ourlives out, and make yourself a perfect laughing-stock before thechildren. "

With this modified concession from her, the quarrel closed in sullensilence on Lapham's part. The night before the dinner came, and thequestion of his gloves was still unsettled, and in a fair way to remainso. He had bought a pair, so as to be on the safe side, perspiring incompany with the young lady who sold them, and who helped him try themon at the shop; his nails were still full of the powder which she hadplentifully peppered into them in order to overcome the resistance ofhis blunt fingers. But he was uncertain whether he should wear them. They had found a book at last that said the ladies removed their gloveson sitting down at table, but it said nothing about gentlemen's gloves. He left his wife where she stood half hook-and-eyed at her glass in hernew dress, and went down to his own den beyond the parlour. Before heshut his door he caught a glimpse of Irene trailing up and down beforethe long mirror in HER new dress, followed by the seamstress on herknees; the woman had her mouth full of pins, and from time to time shemade Irene stop till she could put one of the pins into her train;Penelope sat in a corner criticising and counselling. It made Laphamsick, and he despised himself and all his brood for the trouble theywere taking. But another glance gave him a sight of the young girl'sface in the mirror, beautiful and radiant with happiness, and his heartmelted again with paternal tenderness and pride. It was going to be agreat pleasure to Irene, and Lapham felt that she was bound to cut outanything there. He was vexed with Penelope that she was not going too;he would have liked to have those people hear her talk. He held hisdoor a little open, and listened to the things she was "getting off"there to Irene. He showed that he felt really hurt and disappointedabout Penelope, and the girl's mother made her console him the nextevening before they all drove away without her. "You try to look onthe bright side of it, father. I guess you'll see that it's best Ididn't go when you get there. Irene needn't open her lips, and theycan all see how pretty she is; but they wouldn't know how smart I wasunless I talked, and maybe then they wouldn't. "

This thrust at her father's simple vanity in her made him laugh; andthen they drove away, and Penelope shut the door, and went upstairswith her lips firmly shutting in a sob. 

XIV. 

THE Coreys were one of the few old families who lingered in BellinghamPlace, the handsome, quiet old street which the sympathetic observermust grieve to see abandoned to boarding-houses. The dwellings arestately and tall, and the whole place wears an air of aristocraticseclusion, which Mrs. Corey's father might well have thought assuredwhen he left her his house there at his death. It is one of twoevidently designed by the same architect who built some houses in acharacteristic taste on Beacon Street opposite the Common. It has awooden portico, with slender fluted columns, which have always beenpainted white, and which, with the delicate mouldings of the cornice, form the sole and sufficient decoration of the street front; nothingcould be simpler, and nothing could be better. Within, the architecthas again indulged his preference for the classic; the roof of thevestibule, wide and low, rests on marble columns, slim and fluted likethe wooden columns without, and an ample staircase climbs in agraceful, easy curve from the tesselated pavement. Some carvedVenetian scrigni stretched along the wall; a rug lay at the foot of thestairs; but otherwise the simple adequacy of the architecturalintention had been respected, and the place looked bare to the eyes ofthe Laphams when they entered. The Coreys had once kept a man, butwhen young Corey began his retrenchments the man had yielded to theneat maid who showed the Colonel into the reception-room and asked theladies to walk up two flights. 

He had his charges from Irene not to enter the drawing-room without hermother, and he spent five minutes in getting on his gloves, for he haddesperately resolved to wear them at last. When he had them on, andlet his large fists hang down on either side, they looked, in thesaffron tint which the shop-girl said his gloves should be of, likecanvased hams. He perspired with doubt as he climbed the stairs, andwhile he waited on the landing for Mrs. Lapham and Irene to come downfrom above before going into the drawing-room, he stood staring at hishands, now open and now shut, and breathing hard. He heard quiettalking beyond the portiere within, and presently Tom Corey came out. 

"Ah, Colonel Lapham! Very glad to see you. "

Lapham shook hands with him and gasped, "Waiting for Mis' Lapham, " toaccount for his presence. He had not been able to button his rightglove, and he now began, with as much indifference as he could assume, to pull them both off, for he saw that Corey wore none. By the time hehad stuffed them into the pocket of his coat-skirt his wife anddaughter descended. 

Corey welcomed them very cordially too, but looked a little mystified. Mrs. Lapham knew that he was silently inquiring for Penelope, and shedid not know whether she ought to excuse her to him first or not. Shesaid nothing, and after a glance toward the regions where Penelopemight conjecturably be lingering, he held aside the portiere for theLaphams to pass, and entered the room with them. 

Mrs. Lapham had decided against low-necks on her own responsibility, and had entrenched herself in the safety of a black silk, in which shelooked very handsome. Irene wore a dress of one of those shades whichonly a woman or an artist can decide to be green or blue, and which toother eyes looks both or neither, according to their degrees ofignorance. If it was more like a ball dress than a dinner dress, thatmight be excused to the exquisite effect. She trailed, a delicatesplendour, across the carpet in her mother's sombre wake, and theconsciousness of success brought a vivid smile to her face. Lapham, pallid with anxiety lest he should somehow disgrace himself, givingthanks to God that he should have been spared the shame of wearinggloves where no one else did, but at the same time despairing thatCorey should have seen him in them, had an unwonted aspect of almostpathetic refinement. 

Mrs. Corey exchanged a quick glance of surprise and relief with herhusband as she started across the room to meet her guests, and in hergratitude to them for being so irreproachable, she threw into hermanner a warmth that people did not always find there. "GeneralLapham?" she said, shaking hands in quick succession with Mrs. Laphamand Irene, and now addressing herself to him. 

"No, ma'am, only Colonel, " said the honest man, but the lady did nothear him. She was introducing her husband to Lapham's wife anddaughter, and Bromfield Corey was already shaking his hand and sayinghe was very glad to see him again, while he kept his artistic eye onIrene, and apparently could not take it off. Lily Corey gave theLapham ladies a greeting which was physically rather than sociallycold, and Nanny stood holding Irene's hand in both of hers a moment, and taking in her beauty and her style with a generous admiration whichshe could afford, for she was herself faultlessly dressed in the quiettaste of her city, and looking very pretty. The interval was longenough to let every man present confide his sense of Irene's beauty toevery other; and then, as the party was small, Mrs. Corey madeeverybody acquainted. When Lapham had not quite understood, he heldthe person's hand, and, leaning urbanely forward, inquired, "Whatname?" He did that because a great man to whom he had been presented onthe platform at a public meeting had done so to him, and he knew itmust be right. 

A little lull ensued upon the introductions, and Mrs. Corey saidquietly to Mrs. Lapham, "Can I send any one to be of use to MissLapham?" as if Penelope must be in the dressing-room. 

Mrs. Lapham turned fire-red, and the graceful forms in which she hadbeen intending to excuse her daughter's absence went out of her head. "She isn't upstairs, " she said, at her bluntest, as country people arewhen embarrassed. "She didn't feel just like coming to-night. I don'tknow as she's feeling very well. "

Mrs. Corey emitted a very small "O!"--very small, very cold, --whichbegan to grow larger and hotter and to burn into Mrs. Lapham's soulbefore Mrs. Corey could add, "I'm very sorry. It's nothing serious, Ihope?"

Robert Chase, the painter, had not come, and Mrs. James Bellingham wasnot there, so that the table really balanced better without Penelope;but Mrs. Lapham could not know this, and did not deserve to know it. Mrs. Corey glanced round the room, as if to take account of her guests, and said to her husband, "I think we are all here, then, " and he cameforward and gave his arm to Mrs. Lapham. She perceived then that intheir determination not to be the first to come they had been the last, and must have kept the others waiting for them. 

Lapham had never seen people go down to dinner arm-in-arm before, buthe knew that his wife was distinguished in being taken out by the host, and he waited in jealous impatience to see if Tom Corey would offer hisarm to Irene. He gave it to that big girl they called Miss Kingsbury, and the handsome old fellow whom Mrs. Corey had introduced as hercousin took Irene out. Lapham was startled from the misgiving in whichthis left him by Mrs. Corey's passing her hand through his arm, and hemade a sudden movement forward, but felt himself gently restrained. They went out the last of all; he did not know why, but he submitted, and when they sat down he saw that Irene, although she had come in withthat Mr. Bellingham, was seated beside young Corey, after all. 

He fetched a long sigh of relief when he sank into his chair and felthimself safe from error if he kept a sharp lookout and did only whatthe others did. Bellingham had certain habits which he permittedhimself, and one of these was tucking the corner of his napkin into hiscollar; he confessed himself an uncertain shot with a spoon, anddefended his practice on the ground of neatness and common-sense. Lapham put his napkin into his collar too, and then, seeing that no onebut Bellingham did it, became alarmed and took it out again slyly. Henever had wine on his table at home, and on principle he was aprohibitionist; but now he did not know just what to do about theglasses at the right of his plate. He had a notion to turn them alldown, as he had read of a well-known politician's doing at a publicdinner, to show that he did not take wine; but, after twiddling withone of them a moment, he let them be, for it seemed to him that wouldbe a little too conspicuous, and he felt that every one was looking. He let the servant fill them all, and he drank out of each, not toappear odd. Later, he observed that the young ladies were not takingwine, and he was glad to see that Irene had refused it, and that Mrs. Lapham was letting it stand untasted. He did not know but he ought todecline some of the dishes, or at least leave most of some on hisplate, but he was not able to decide; he took everything and ateeverything. 

He noticed that Mrs. Corey seemed to take no more trouble about thedinner than anybody, and Mr. Corey rather less; he was talking busilyto Mrs. Lapham, and Lapham caught a word here and there that convincedhim she was holding her own. He was getting on famously himself withMrs. Corey, who had begun with him about his new house; he was tellingher all about it, and giving her his ideas. Their conversationnaturally included his architect across the table; Lapham had beendelighted and secretly surprised to find the fellow there; and atsomething Seymour said the talk spread suddenly, and the pretty househe was building for Colonel Lapham became the general theme. YoungCorey testified to its loveliness, and the architect said laughinglythat if he had been able to make a nice thing of it, he owed it to thepractical sympathy of his client. 

"Practical sympathy is good, " said Bromfield Corey; and, slanting hishead confidentially to Mrs. Lapham, he added, "Does he bleed yourhusband, Mrs. Lapham? He's a terrible fellow for appropriations!"

Mrs. Lapham laughed, reddening consciously, and said she guessed theColonel knew how to take care of himself. This struck Lapham, thendraining his glass of sauterne, as wonderfully discreet in his wife. Bromfield Corey leaned back in his chair a moment. "Well, after all, you can't say, with all your modern fuss about it, that you do muchbetter now than the old fellows who built such houses as this. "

"Ah, " said the architect, "nobody can do better than well. Your houseis in perfect taste; you know I've always admired it; and I don't thinkit's at all the worse for being old-fashioned. What we've done islargely to go back of the hideous style that raged after they forgothow to make this sort of house. But I think we may claim a betterfeeling for structure. We use better material, and more wisely; and byand by we shall work out something more characteristic and original. "

"With your chocolates and olives, and your clutter of bric-a-brac?"

"All that's bad, of course, but I don't mean that. I don't wish tomake you envious of Colonel Lapham, and modesty prevents my saying, that his house is prettier, --though I may have my convictions, --butit's better built. All the new houses are better built. Now, yourhouse----"

"Mrs. Corey's house, " interrupted the host, with a burlesque haste indisclaiming responsibility for it that made them all laugh. "Myancestral halls are in Salem, and I'm told you couldn't drive a nailinto their timbers; in fact, I don't know that you would want to do it. "

"I should consider it a species of sacrilege, " answered Seymour, "and Ishall be far from pressing the point I was going to make against ahouse of Mrs. Corey's. "

This won Seymour the easy laugh, and Lapham silently wondered that thefellow never got off any of those things to him. 

"Well, " said Corey, "you architects and the musicians are the true andonly artistic creators. All the rest of us, sculptors, painters, novelists, and tailors, deal with forms that we have before us; we tryto imitate, we try to represent. But you two sorts of artists createform. If you represent, you fail. Somehow or other you do evolve thecamel out of your inner consciousness. "

"I will not deny the soft impeachment, " said the architect, with amodest air. 

"I dare say. And you'll own that it's very handsome of me to say this, after your unjustifiable attack on Mrs. Corey's property. "

Bromfield Corey addressed himself again to Mrs. Lapham, and the talksubdivided itself as before. It lapsed so entirely away from thesubject just in hand, that Lapham was left with rather a good idea, ashe thought it, to perish in his mind, for want of a chance to expressit. The only thing like a recurrence to what they had been saying wasBromfield Corey's warning Mrs. Lapham, in some connection that Laphamlost, against Miss Kingsbury. "She's worse, " he was saying, "when itcomes to appropriations than Seymour himself. Depend upon it, Mrs. Lapham, she will give you no peace of your mind, now she's met you, from this out. Her tender mercies are cruel; and I leave you to supplythe content from your own scriptural knowledge. Beware of her, and allher works. She calls them works of charity; but heaven knows whetherthey are. It don't stand to reason that she gives the poor ALL themoney she gets out of people. I have my own belief"--he gave it in awhisper for the whole table to hear--"that she spends it for champagneand cigars. "

Lapham did not know about that kind of talking; but Miss Kingsburyseemed to enjoy the fun as much as anybody, and he laughed with therest. 

"You shall be asked to the very next debauch of the committee, Mr. Corey; then you won't dare expose us, " said Miss Kingsbury. 

"I wonder you haven't been down upon Corey to go to the Chardon Streethome and talk with your indigent Italians in their native tongue, " saidCharles Bellingham. "I saw in the Transcript the other night that youwanted some one for the work. "

"We did think of Mr. Corey, " replied Miss Kingsbury; "but we reflectedthat he probably wouldn't talk with them at all; he would make themkeep still to be sketched, and forget all about their wants. "

Upon the theory that this was a fair return for Corey's pleasantry, theothers laughed again. 

"There is one charity, " said Corey, pretending superiority to MissKingsbury's point, "that is so difficult, I wonder it hasn't occurredto a lady of your courageous invention. "

"Yes?" said Miss Kingsbury. "What is that?"

"The occupation, by deserving poor of neat habits, of all thebeautiful, airy, wholesome houses that stand empty the whole summerlong, while their owners are away in their lowly cots beside the sea. "

"Yes, that is terrible, " replied Miss Kingsbury, with quickearnestness, while her eyes grew moist. "I have often thought of ourgreat, cool houses standing useless here, and the thousands of poorcreatures stifling in their holes and dens, and the little childrendying for wholesome shelter. How cruelly selfish we are!"

"That is a very comfortable sentiment, Miss Kingsbury, " said Corey, "and must make you feel almost as if you had thrown open No. 31 to thewhole North End. But I am serious about this matter. I spend mysummers in town, and I occupy my own house, so that I can speakimpartially and intelligently; and I tell you that in some of my walkson the Hill and down on the Back Bay, nothing but the surveillance ofthe local policeman prevents my offering personal violence to thoselong rows of close-shuttered, handsome, brutally insensible houses. IfI were a poor man, with a sick child pining in some garret or cellar atthe North End, I should break into one of them, and camp out on thegrand piano. "

"Surely, Bromfield, " said his wife, "you don't consider what havoc suchpeople would make with the furniture of a nice house!"

"That is true, " answered Corey, with meek conviction. "I never thoughtof that. "

"And if you were a poor man with a sick child, I doubt if you'd have somuch heart for burglary as you have now, " said James Bellingham. 

"It's wonderful how patient they are, " said the minister. "Thespectacle of the hopeless comfort the hard-working poor man sees mustbe hard to bear. "

Lapham wanted to speak up and say that he had been there himself, andknew how such a man felt. He wanted to tell them that generally a poorman was satisfied if he could make both ends meet; that he didn't envyany one his good luck, if he had earned it, so long as he wasn'trunning under himself. But before he could get the courage to addressthe whole table, Sewell added, "I suppose he don't always think of it. "

"But some day he WILL think about it, " said Corey. "In fact, we ratherinvite him to think about it, in this country. "

"My brother-in-law, " said Charles Bellingham, with the pride a manfeels in a mentionably remarkable brother-in-law, "has no end offellows at work under him out there at Omaha, and he says it's thefellows from countries where they've been kept from thinking about itthat are discontented. The Americans never make any trouble. Theyseem to understand that so long as we give unlimited opportunity, nobody has a right to complain. "

"What do you hear from Leslie?" asked Mrs. Corey, turning from theseprofitless abstractions to Mrs. Bellingham. 

"You know, " said that lady in a lower tone, "that there is anotherbaby?"

"No! I hadn't heard of it!"

"Yes; a boy. They have named him after his uncle. "

"Yes, " said Charles Bellingham, joining in. "He is said to be a nobleboy, and to resemble me. "

"All boys of that tender age are noble, " said Corey, "and look likeanybody you wish them to resemble. Is Leslie still home-sick for thebean-pots of her native Boston?"

"She is getting over it, I fancy, " replied Mrs. Bellingham. "She'svery much taken up with Mr. Blake's enterprises, and leads a veryexciting life. She says she's like people who have been home fromEurope three years; she's past the most poignant stage of regret, andhasn't reached the second, when they feel that they must go again. "

Lapham leaned a little toward Mrs. Corey, and said of a picture whichhe saw on the wall opposite, "Picture of your daughter, I presume?"

"No; my daughter's grandmother. It's a Stewart Newton; he painted agreat many Salem beauties. She was a Miss Polly Burroughs. Mydaughter IS like her, don't you think?" They both looked at Nanny Coreyand then at the portrait. "Those pretty old-fashioned dresses arecoming in again. I'm not surprised you took it for her. Theothers"--she referred to the other portraits more or less darkling onthe walls--"are my people; mostly Copleys. "

These names, unknown to Lapham, went to his head like the wine he wasdrinking; they seemed to carry light for the moment, but a film ofdeeper darkness followed. He heard Charles Bellingham telling funnystories to Irene and trying to amuse the girl; she was laughing, andseemed very happy. From time to time Bellingham took part in thegeneral talk between the host and James Bellingham and Miss Kingsburyand that minister, Mr. Sewell. They talked of people mostly; itastonished Lapham to hear with what freedom they talked. Theydiscussed these persons unsparingly; James Bellingham spoke of a manknown to Lapham for his business success and great wealth as not agentleman; his cousin Charles said he was surprised that the fellow hadkept from being governor so long. 

When the latter turned from Irene to make one of these excursions intothe general talk, young Corey talked to her; and Lapham caught somewords from which it seemed that they were speaking of Penelope. Itvexed him to think she had not come; she could have talked as well asany of them; she was just as bright; and Lapham was aware that Irenewas not as bright, though when he looked at her face, triumphant in itsyoung beauty and fondness, he said to himself that it did not make anydifference. He felt that he was not holding up his end of the line, however. When some one spoke to him he could only summon a few wordsof reply, that seemed to lead to nothing; things often came into hismind appropriate to what they were saying, but before he could get themout they were off on something else; they jumped about so, he could notkeep up; but he felt, all the same, that he was not doing himselfjustice. 

At one time the talk ran off upon a subject that Lapham had never heardtalked of before; but again he was vexed that Penelope was not there, to have her say; he believed that her say would have been worth hearing. 

Miss Kingsbury leaned forward and asked Charles Bellingham if he hadread Tears, Idle Tears, the novel that was making such a sensation; andwhen he said no, she said she wondered at him. "It's perfectlyheart-breaking, as you'll imagine from the name; but there's such adear old-fashioned hero and heroine in it, who keep dying for eachother all the way through, and making the most wildly satisfactory andunnecessary sacrifices for each other. You feel as if you'd done themyourself. "

"Ah, that's the secret of its success, " said Bromfield Corey. "Itflatters the reader by painting the characters colossal, but with hislimp and stoop, so that he feels himself of their supernaturalproportions. You've read it, Nanny?"

"Yes, " said his daughter. "It ought to have been called Slop, SillySlop. "

"Oh, not quite SLOP, Nanny, " pleaded Miss Kingsbury. 

"It's astonishing, " said Charles Bellingham, "how we do like the booksthat go for our heart-strings. And I really suppose that you can't puta more popular thing than self-sacrifice into a novel. We do like tosee people suffering sublimely. "

"There was talk some years ago, " said James Bellingham, "about novelsgoing out. " "They're just coming in!" cried Miss Kingsbury. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Sewell, the minister. "And I don't think there everwas a time when they formed the whole intellectual experience of morepeople. They do greater mischief than ever. "

"Don't be envious, parson, " said the host. 

"No, " answered Sewell. "I should be glad of their help. But thosenovels with old-fashioned heroes and heroines in them--excuse me, MissKingsbury--are ruinous!"

"Don't you feel like a moral wreck, Miss Kingsbury?" asked the host. 

But Sewell went on: "The novelists might be the greatest possible helpto us if they painted life as it is, and human feelings in their trueproportion and relation, but for the most part they have been and arealtogether noxious. "

This seemed sense to Lapham; but Bromfield Corey asked: "But what iflife as it is isn't amusing? Aren't we to be amused?"

"Not to our hurt, " sturdily answered the minister. "And theself-sacrifice painted in most novels like this----"

"Slop, Silly Slop?" suggested the proud father of the inventor of thephrase. 

"Yes--is nothing but psychical suicide, and is as wholly immoral as thespectacle of a man falling upon his sword. "

"Well, I don't know but you're right, parson, " said the host; and theminister, who had apparently got upon a battle-horse of his, careeredonward in spite of some tacit attempts of his wife to seize the bridle. 

"Right? To be sure I am right. The whole business of love, andlove-making and marrying, is painted by the novelists in a monstrousdisproportion to the other relations of life. Love is very sweet, verypretty----"

"Oh, THANK you, Mr. Sewell, " said Nanny Corey, in a way that set themall laughing. 

"But it's the affair, commonly, of very young people, who have not yetcharacter and experience enough to make them interesting. In novelsit's treated, not only as if it were the chief interest of life, butthe sole interest of the lives of two ridiculous young persons; and itis taught that love is perpetual, that the glow of a true passion lastsfor ever; and that it is sacrilege to think or act otherwise. " "Well, but isn't that true, Mr. Sewell?" pleaded Miss Kingsbury. 

"I have known some most estimable people who had married a secondtime, " said the minister, and then he had the applause with him. Lapham wanted to make some open recognition of his good sense, butcould not. 

"I suppose the passion itself has been a good deal changed, " saidBromfield Corey, "since the poets began to idealise it in the days ofchivalry. "

"Yes; and it ought to be changed again, " said Mr. Sewell. 

"What! Back?"

"I don't say that. But it ought to be recognised as something naturaland mortal, and divine honours, which belong to righteousness alone, ought not to be paid it. "

"Oh, you ask too much, parson, " laughed his host, and the talk wanderedaway to something else. 

It was not an elaborate dinner; but Lapham was used to havingeverything on the table at once, and this succession of dishesbewildered him; he was afraid perhaps he was eating too much. He nowno longer made any pretence of not drinking his wine, for he wasthirsty, and there was no more water, and he hated to ask for any. Theice-cream came, and then the fruit. Suddenly Mrs. Corey rose, and saidacross the table to her husband, "I suppose you will want your coffeehere. " And he replied, "Yes; we'll join you at tea. "

The ladies all rose, and the gentlemen got up with them. Laphamstarted to follow Mrs. Corey, but the other men merely stood in theirplaces, except young Corey, who ran and opened the door for his mother. Lapham thought with shame that it was he who ought to have done that;but no one seemed to notice, and he sat down again gladly, afterkicking out one of his legs which had gone to sleep. 

They brought in cigars with coffee, and Bromfield Corey advised Laphamto take one that he chose for him. Lapham confessed that he liked agood cigar about as well as anybody, and Corey said: "These are new. Ihad an Englishman here the other day who was smoking old cigars in thesuperstition that tobacco improved with age, like wine. "

"Ah, " said Lapham, "anybody who had ever lived off a tobacco countrycould tell him better than that. " With the fuming cigar between hislips he felt more at home than he had before. He turned sidewise inhis chair and, resting one arm on the back, intertwined the fingers ofboth hands, and smoked at large ease. James Bellingham came and satdown by him. "Colonel Lapham, weren't you with the 96th Vermont whenthey charged across the river in front of Pickensburg, and the rebelbattery opened fire on them in the water?"

Lapham slowly shut his eyes and slowly dropped his head for assent, letting out a white volume of smoke from the corner of his mouth. 

"I thought so, " said Bellingham. "I was with the 85th Massachusetts, and I sha'n't forget that slaughter. We were all new to it still. Perhaps that's why it made such an impression. "

"I don't know, " suggested Charles Bellingham. "Was there anything muchmore impressive afterward? I read of it out in Missouri, where I wasstationed at the time, and I recollect the talk of some old army menabout it. They said that death-rate couldn't be beaten. I don't knowthat it ever was. "

"About one in five of us got out safe, " said Lapham, breaking hiscigar-ash off on the edge of a plate. James Bellingham reached him abottle of Apollinaris. He drank a glass, and then went on smoking. 

They all waited, as if expecting him to speak, and then Corey said:"How incredible those things seem already! You gentlemen KNOW thatthey happened; but are you still able to believe it?"

"Ah, nobody FEELS that anything happened, " said Charles Bellingham. "The past of one's experience doesn't differ a great deal from the pastof one's knowledge. It isn't much more probable; it's really a greatdeal less vivid than some scenes in a novel that one read when a boy. "

"I'm not sure of that, " said James Bellingham. 

"Well, James, neither am I, " consented his cousin, helping himself fromLapham's Apollinaris bottle. "There would be very little talking atdinner if one only said the things that one was sure of. "

The others laughed, and Bromfield Corey remarked thoughtfully, "Whatastonishes the craven civilian in all these things is theabundance--the superabundance--of heroism. The cowards were theexception; the men that were ready to die, the rule. "

"The woods were full of them, " said Lapham, without taking his cigarfrom his mouth. 

"That's a nice little touch in School, " interposed Charles Bellingham, "where the girl says to the fellow who was at Inkerman, 'I should thinkyou would be so proud of it, ' and he reflects a while, and says, 'Well, the fact is, you know, there were so many of us. '"

"Yes, I remember that, " said James Bellingham, smiling for pleasure init. "But I don't see why you claim the credit of being a cravencivilian, Bromfield, " he added, with a friendly glance at hisbrother-in-law, and with the willingness Boston men often show to turnone another's good points to the light in company; bred so intimatelytogether at school and college and in society, they all know thesepoints. "A man who was out with Garibaldi in '48, " continued JamesBellingham. 

"Oh, a little amateur red-shirting, " Corey interrupted in deprecation. "But even if you choose to dispute my claim, what has become of all theheroism? Tom, how many club men do you know who would think it sweetand fitting to die for their country?"

"I can't think of a great many at the moment, sir, " replied the son, with the modesty of his generation. 

"And I couldn't in '61, " said his uncle. "Nevertheless they werethere. "

"Then your theory is that it's the occasion that is wanting, " saidBromfield Corey. "But why shouldn't civil service reform, and theresumption of specie payment, and a tariff for revenue only, inspireheroes? They are all good causes. "

"It's the occasion that's wanting, " said James Bellingham, ignoring thepersiflage. "And I'm very glad of it. "

"So am I, " said Lapham, with a depth of feeling that expressed itselfin spite of the haze in which his brain seemed to float. There was agreat deal of the talk that he could not follow; it was too quick forhim; but here was something he was clear of. "I don't want to see anymore men killed in my time. " Something serious, something sombre mustlurk behind these words, and they waited for Lapham to say more; butthe haze closed round him again, and he remained silent, drinkingApollinaris. 

"We non-combatants were notoriously reluctant to give up fighting, "said Mr. Sewell, the minister; "but I incline to think Colonel Laphamand Mr. Bellingham may be right. I dare say we shall have the heroismagain if we have the occasion. Till it comes, we must contentourselves with the every-day generosities and sacrifices. They make upin quantity what they lack in quality, perhaps. " "They're not sopicturesque, " said Bromfield Corey. "You can paint a man dying for hiscountry, but you can't express on canvas a man fulfilling the duties ofa good citizen. "

"Perhaps the novelists will get at him by and by, " suggested CharlesBellingham. "If I were one of these fellows, I shouldn't propose tomyself anything short of that. "

"What? the commonplace?" asked his cousin. 

"Commonplace? The commonplace is just that light, impalpable, aerialessence which they've never got into their confounded books yet. Thenovelist who could interpret the common feelings of commonplace peoplewould have the answer to 'the riddle of the painful earth' on histongue. "

"Oh, not so bad as that, I hope, " said the host; and Lapham looked fromone to the other, trying to make out what they were at. He had neverbeen so up a tree before. 

"I suppose it isn't well for us to see human nature at white heathabitually, " continued Bromfield Corey, after a while. "It would makeus vain of our species. Many a poor fellow in that war and in manyanother has gone into battle simply and purely for his country's sake, not knowing whether, if he laid down his life, he should ever find itagain, or whether, if he took it up hereafter, he should take it up inheaven or hell. Come, parson!" he said, turning to the minister, "whathas ever been conceived of omnipotence, of omniscience, so sublime, sodivine as that?"

"Nothing, " answered the minister quietly. "God has never been imaginedat all. But if you suppose such a man as that was Authorised, I thinkit will help you to imagine what God must be. "

"There's sense in that, " said Lapham. He took his cigar out of hismouth, and pulled his chair a little toward the table, on which heplaced his ponderous fore-arms. "I want to tell you about a fellow Ihad in my own company when we first went out. We were all privates tobegin with; after a while they elected me captain--I'd had the tavernstand, and most of 'em knew me. But Jim Millon never got to beanything more than corporal; corporal when he was killed. " The othersarrested themselves in various attitudes of attention, and remainedlistening to Lapham with an interest that profoundly flattered him. Now, at last, he felt that he was holding up his end of the rope. "Ican't say he went into the thing from the highest motives, altogether;our motives are always pretty badly mixed, and when there's such ahurrah-boys as there was then, you can't tell which is which. Isuppose Jim Millon's wife was enough to account for his going, herself. She was a pretty bad assortment, " said Lapham, lowering his voice andglancing round at the door to make sure that it was shut, "and she usedto lead Jim ONE kind of life. Well, sir, " continued Lapham, synthetising his auditors in that form of address, "that fellow used tosave every cent of his pay and send it to that woman. Used to get meto do it for him. I tried to stop him. 'Why, Jim, ' said I, 'you knowwhat she'll do with it. ' 'That's so, Cap, ' says he, 'but I don't knowwhat she'll do without it. ' And it did keep her straight--straight as astring--as long as Jim lasted. Seemed as if there was somethingmysterious about it. They had a little girl, --about as old as myoldest girl, --and Jim used to talk to me about her. Guess he done itas much for her as for the mother; and he said to me before the lastaction we went into, 'I should like to turn tail and run, Cap. I ain'tcomin' out o' this one. But I don't suppose it would do. ' 'Well, notfor you, Jim, ' said I. 'I want to live, ' he says; and he bust outcrying right there in my tent. 'I want to live for poor Molly andZerrilla'--that's what they called the little one; I dunno where theygot the name. 'I ain't ever had half a chance; and now she's doingbetter, and I believe we should get along after this. ' He set therecryin' like a baby. But he wa'n't no baby when he went into action. Ihated to look at him after it was over, not so much because he'd got aball that was meant for me by a sharpshooter--he saw the devil takin'aim, and he jumped to warn me--as because he didn't look like Jim; helooked like--fun; all desperate and savage. I guess he died hard. "

The story made its impression, and Lapham saw it. "Now I say, " heresumed, as if he felt that he was going to do himself justice, and saysomething to heighten the effect his story had produced. At the sametime he was aware of a certain want of clearness. He had the idea, butit floated vague, elusive, in his brain. He looked about as if forsomething to precipitate it in tangible shape. 

"Apollinaris?" asked Charles Bellingham, handing the bottle from theother side. He had drawn his chair closer than the rest to Lapham's, and was listening with great interest. When Mrs. Corey asked him tomeet Lapham, he accepted gladly. "You know I go in for that sort ofthing, Anna. Since Leslie's affair we're rather bound to do it. And Ithink we meet these practical fellows too little. There's alwayssomething original about them. " He might naturally have believed thatthe reward of his faith was coming. 

"Thanks, I will take some of this wine, " said Lapham, pouring himself aglass of Madeira from a black and dusty bottle caressed by a labelbearing the date of the vintage. He tossed off the wine, unconsciousof its preciousness, and waited for the result. That cloudiness in hisbrain disappeared before it, but a mere blank remained. He not onlycould not remember what he was going to say, but he could not recallwhat they had been talking about. They waited, looking at him, and hestared at them in return. After a while he heard the host saying, "Shall we join the ladies?"

Lapham went, trying to think what had happened. It seemed to him along time since he had drunk that wine. 

Miss Corey gave him a cup of tea, where he stood aloof from his wife, who was talking with Miss Kingsbury and Mrs. Sewell; Irene was withMiss Nanny Corey. He could not hear what they were talking about; butif Penelope had come, he knew that she would have done them all credit. He meant to let her know how he felt about her behaviour when he gothome. It was a shame for her to miss such a chance. Irene was lookingbeautiful, as pretty as all the rest of them put together, but she wasnot talking, and Lapham perceived that at a dinner-party you ought totalk. He was himself conscious of having, talked very well. He nowwore an air of great dignity, and, in conversing with the othergentlemen, he used a grave and weighty deliberation. Some of themwanted him to go into the library. There he gave his ideas of books. He said he had not much time for anything but the papers; but he wasgoing to have a complete library in his new place. He made anelaborate acknowledgment to Bromfield Corey of his son's kindness insuggesting books for his library; he said that he had ordered them all, and that he meant to have pictures. He asked Mr. Corey who was aboutthe best American painter going now. "I don't set up to be a judge ofpictures, but I know what I like, " he said. He lost the reserve whichhe had maintained earlier, and began to boast. He himself introducedthe subject of his paint, in a natural transition from pictures; hesaid Mr. Corey must take a run up to Lapham with him some day, and seethe Works; they would interest him, and he would drive him round thecountry; he kept most of his horses up there, and he could show Mr. Corey some of the finest Jersey grades in the country. He told abouthis brother William, the judge at Dubuque; and a farm he had out therethat paid for itself every year in wheat. As he cast off all fear, hisvoice rose, and he hammered his arm-chair with the thick of his handfor emphasis. Mr. Corey seemed impressed; he sat perfectly quiet, listening, and Lapham saw the other gentlemen stop in their talk everynow and then to listen. After this proof of his ability to interestthem, he would have liked to have Mrs. Lapham suggest again that he wasunequal to their society, or to the society of anybody else. Hesurprised himself by his ease among men whose names had hithertooverawed him. He got to calling Bromfield Corey by his surname alone. He did not understand why young Corey seemed so preoccupied, and hetook occasion to tell the company how he had said to his wife the firsttime he saw that fellow that he could make a man of him if he had himin the business; and he guessed he was not mistaken. He began to tellstories of the different young men he had had in his employ. At lasthe had the talk altogether to himself; no one else talked, and hetalked unceasingly. It was a great time; it was a triumph. 

He was in this successful mood when word came to him that Mrs. Laphamwas going; Tom Corey seemed to have brought it, but he was not sure. Anyway, he was not going to hurry. He made cordial invitations to eachof the gentlemen to drop in and see him at his office, and would not besatisfied till he had exacted a promise from each. He told CharlesBellingham that he liked him, and assured James Bellingham that it hadalways been his ambition to know him, and that if any one had said whenhe first came to Boston that in less than ten years he should behobnobbing with Jim Bellingham, he should have told that person helied. He would have told anybody he lied that had told him ten yearsago that a son of Bromfield Corey would have come and asked him to takehim into the business. Ten years ago he, Silas Lapham, had come toBoston a little worse off than nothing at all, for he was in debt forhalf the money that he had bought out his partner with, and here he wasnow worth a million, and meeting you gentlemen like one of you. Andevery cent of that was honest money, --no speculation, --every copper ofit for value received. And here, only the other day, his old partner, who had been going to the dogs ever since he went out of the business, came and borrowed twenty thousand dollars of him! Lapham lent itbecause his wife wanted him to: she had always felt bad about thefellow's having to go out of the business. 

He took leave of Mr. Sewell with patronising affection, and bade himcome to him if he ever got into a tight place with his parish work; hewould let him have all the money he wanted; he had more money than heknew what to do with. "Why, when your wife sent to mine last fall, " hesaid, turning to Mr. Corey, "I drew my cheque for five hundred dollars, but my wife wouldn't take more than one hundred; said she wasn't goingto show off before Mrs. Corey. I call that a pretty good joke on Mrs. Corey. I must tell her how Mrs. Lapham done her out of a cool fourhundred dollars. "

He started toward the door of the drawing-room to take leave of theladies; but Tom Corey was at his elbow, saying, "I think Mrs. Lapham iswaiting for you below, sir, " and in obeying the direction Corey gavehim toward another door he forgot all about his purpose, and came awaywithout saying good-night to his hostess. 

Mrs. Lapham had not known how soon she ought to go, and had no ideathat in her quality of chief guest she was keeping the others. Shestayed till eleven o'clock, and was a little frightened when she foundwhat time it was; but Mrs. Corey, without pressing her to stay longer, had said it was not at all late. She and Irene had had a perfect time. Everybody had been very polite, on the way home they celebrated theamiability of both the Miss Coreys and of Miss Kingsbury. Mrs. Laphamthought that Mrs. Bellingham was about the pleasantest person she eversaw; she had told her all about her married daughter who had married aninventor and gone to live in Omaha--a Mrs. Blake. 

"If it's that car-wheel Blake, " said Lapham proudly, "I know all abouthim. I've sold him tons of the paint. "

"Pooh, papa! How you do smell of smoking!" cried Irene. 

"Pretty strong, eh?" laughed Lapham, letting down a window of thecarriage. His heart was throbbing wildly in the close air, and he wasglad of the rush of cold that came in, though it stopped his tongue, and he listened more and more drowsily to the rejoicings that his wifeand daughter exchanged. He meant to have them wake Penelope up andtell her what she had lost; but when he reached home he was too sleepyto suggest it. He fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow, full of supreme triumph. 

But in the morning his skull was sore with the unconscious, night-longache; and he rose cross and taciturn. They had a silent breakfast. Inthe cold grey light of the morning the glories of the night beforeshowed poorer. Here and there a painful doubt obtruded itself andmarred them with its awkward shadow. Penelope sent down word that shewas not well, and was not coming to breakfast, and Lapham was glad togo to his office without seeing her. 

He was severe and silent all day with his clerks, and peremptory withcustomers. Of Corey he was slyly observant, and as the day wore awayhe grew more restively conscious. He sent out word by his office-boythat he would like to see Mr. Corey for a few minutes after closing. The type-writer girl had lingered too, as if she wished to speak withhim, and Corey stood in abeyance as she went toward Lapham's door. 

"Can't see you to-night, Zerrilla, " he said bluffly, but not unkindly. "Perhaps I'll call at the house, if it's important. "

"It is, " said the girl, with a spoiled air of insistence. 

"Well, " said Lapham, and, nodding to Corey to enter, he closed the doorupon her. Then he turned to the young, man and demanded: "Was I drunklast night?"

XV. 

LAPHAM'S strenuous face was broken up with the emotions that had forcedhim to this question: shame, fear of the things that must have beenthought of him, mixed with a faint hope that he might be mistaken, which died out at the shocked and pitying look in Corey's eyes. 

"Was I drunk?" he repeated. "I ask you, because I was never touched bydrink in my life before, and I don't know. " He stood with his hugehands trembling on the back of his chair, and his dry lips apart, as hestared at Corey. 

"That is what every one understood, Colonel Lapham, " said the youngman. "Every one saw how it was. Don't----"

"Did they talk it over after I left?" asked Lapham vulgarly. 

"Excuse me, " said Corey, blushing, "my father doesn't talk his guestsover with one another. " He added, with youthful superfluity, "You wereamong gentlemen. "

"I was the only one that wasn't a gentleman there!" lamented Lapham. "I disgraced you! I disgraced my family! I mortified your father beforehis friends!" His head dropped. "I showed that I wasn't fit to go withyou. I'm not fit for any decent place. What did I say? What did Ido?" he asked, suddenly lifting his head and confronting Corey. "Outwith it! If you could bear to see it and hear it, I had ought to bearto know it!"

"There was nothing--really nothing, " said Corey. "Beyond the fact thatyou were not quite yourself, there was nothing whatever. My father DIDspeak of it to me, " he confessed, "when we were alone. He said that hewas afraid we had not been thoughtful of you, if you were in the habitof taking only water; I told him I had not seen wine at your table. The others said nothing about you. "

"Ah, but what did they think?"

"Probably what we did: that it was purely a misfortune--an accident. "

"I wasn't fit to be there, " persisted Lapham. "Do you want to leave?"he asked, with savage abruptness. 

"Leave?" faltered the young man. 

"Yes; quit the business? Cut the whole connection?"

"I haven't the remotest idea of it!" cried Corey in amazement. "Why inthe world should I?" "Because you're a gentleman, and I'm not, and itain't right I should be over you. If you want to go, I know someparties that would be glad to get you. I will give you up if you wantto go before anything worse happens, and I shan't blame you. I canhelp you to something better than I can offer you here, and I will. "

"There's no question of my going, unless you wish it, " said Corey. "Ifyou do----"

"Will you tell your father, " interrupted Lapham, "that I had a notionall the time that I was acting the drunken blackguard, and that I'vesuffered for it all day? Will you tell him I don't want him to noticeme if we ever meet, and that I know I'm not fit to associate withgentlemen in anything but a business way, if I am that?"

"Certainly I shall do nothing of the kind, " retorted Corey. "I can'tlisten to you any longer. What you say is shocking to me--shocking ina way you can't think. "

"Why, man!" exclaimed Lapham, with astonishment; "if I can stand it, YOU can!"

"No, " said Corey, with a sick look, "that doesn't follow. You maydenounce yourself, if you will; but I have my reasons for refusing tohear you--my reasons why I CAN'T hear you. If you say another word Imust go away. "

"I don't understand you, " faltered Lapham, in bewilderment, whichabsorbed even his shame. 

"You exaggerate the effect of what has happened, " said the young man. "It's enough, more than enough, for you to have mentioned the matter tome, and I think it's unbecoming in me to hear you. "

He made a movement toward the door, but Lapham stopped him with thetragic humility of his appeal. "Don't go yet! I can't let you. I'vedisgusted you, --I see that; but I didn't mean to. I--I take it back. "

"Oh, there's nothing to take back, " said Corey, with a repressedshudder for the abasement which he had seen. "But let us say no moreabout it--think no more. There wasn't one of the gentlemen presentlast night who didn't understand the matter precisely as my father andI did, and that fact must end it between us two. "

He went out into the larger office beyond, leaving Lapham helpless toprevent his going. It had become a vital necessity with him to thinkthe best of Lapham, but his mind was in a whirl of whatever thoughtswere most injurious. He thought of him the night before in the companyof those ladies and gentlemen, and he quivered in resentment of hisvulgar, braggart, uncouth nature. He recognised his own allegiance tothe exclusiveness to which he was born and bred, as a man perceives hisduty to his country when her rights are invaded. His eye fell on theporter going about in his shirt-sleeves to make the place fast for thenight, and he said to himself that Dennis was not more plebeian thanhis master; that the gross appetites, the blunt sense, the purblindambition, the stupid arrogance were the same in both, and thedifference was in a brute will that probably left the porter thegentler man of the two. The very innocence of Lapham's life in thedirection in which he had erred wrought against him in the young man'smood: it contained the insult of clownish inexperience. Amidst thestings and flashes of his wounded pride, all the social traditions, allthe habits of feeling, which he had silenced more and more by force ofwill during the past months, asserted their natural sway, and he riotedin his contempt of the offensive boor, who was even more offensive inhis shame than in his trespass. He said to himself that he was aCorey, as if that were somewhat; yet he knew that at the bottom of hisheart all the time was that which must control him at last, and whichseemed sweetly to be suffering his rebellion, secure of his submissionin the end. It was almost with the girl's voice that it seemed toplead with him, to undo in him, effect by effect, the work of hisindignant resentment, to set all things in another and fairer light, togive him hopes, to suggest palliations, to protest against injustices. It WAS in Lapham's favour that he was so guiltless in the past, and nowCorey asked himself if it were the first time he could have wished aguest at his father's table to have taken less wine; whether Lapham wasnot rather to be honoured for not knowing how to contain his follywhere a veteran transgressor might have held his tongue. He askedhimself, with a thrill of sudden remorse, whether, when Lapham humbledhimself in the dust so shockingly, he had shown him the sympathy towhich such ABANDON had the right; and he had to own that he had met himon the gentlemanly ground, sparing himself and asserting thesuperiority of his sort, and not recognising that Lapham's humiliationcame from the sense of wrong, which he had helped to accumulate uponhim by superfinely standing aloof and refusing to touch him. 

He shut his desk and hurried out into the early night, not to goanywhere, but to walk up and down, to try to find his way out of thechaos, which now seemed ruin, and now the materials out of which fineactions and a happy life might be shaped. Three hours later he stoodat Lapham's door. 

At times what he now wished to do had seemed for ever impossible, andagain it had seemed as if he could not wait a moment longer. He hadnot been careless, but very mindful of what he knew must be thefeelings of his own family in regard to the Laphams, and he had notconcealed from himself that his family had great reason and justice ontheir side in not wishing him to alienate himself from their commonlife and associations. The most that he could urge to himself was thatthey had not all the reason and justice; but he had hesitated anddelayed because they had so much. Often he could not make it appearright that he should merely please himself in what chiefly concernedhimself. He perceived how far apart in all their experiences andideals the Lapham girls and his sisters were; how different Mrs. Laphamwas from his mother; how grotesquely unlike were his father and Lapham;and the disparity had not always amused him. 

He had often taken it very seriously, and sometimes he said that hemust forego the hope on which his heart was set. There had been manytimes in the past months when he had said that he must go no further, and as often as he had taken this stand he had yielded it, upon this orthat excuse, which he was aware of trumping up. It was part of thecomplication that he should be unconscious of the injury he might bedoing to some one besides his family and himself; this was the defectof his diffidence; and it had come to him in a pang for the first timewhen his mother said that she would not have the Laphams think shewished to make more of the acquaintance than he did; and then it hadcome too late. Since that he had suffered quite as much from the fearthat it might not be as that it might be so; and now, in the mood, romantic and exalted, in which he found himself concerning Lapham, hewas as far as might be from vain confidence. He ended the question inhis own mind by affirming to himself that he was there, first of all, to see Lapham and give him an ultimate proof of his own perfect faithand unabated respect, and to offer him what reparation this involvedfor that want of sympathy--of humanity--which he had shown. 

XVI. 

THE Nova Scotia second-girl who answered Corey's ring said that Laphamhad not come home yet. 

"Oh, " said the young man, hesitating on the outer step. 

"I guess you better come in, " said the girl, "I'll go and see whenthey're expecting him. "

Corey was in the mood to be swayed by any chance. He obeyed thesuggestion of the second-girl's patronising friendliness, and let hershut him into the drawing-room, while she went upstairs to announce himto Penelope. "Did you tell him father wasn't at home?"

"Yes. He seemed so kind of disappointed, I told him to come in, and I'dsee when he WOULD be in, " said the girl, with the human interest whichsometimes replaces in the American domestic the servile deference ofother countries. 

A gleam of amusement passed over Penelope's face, as she glanced atherself in the glass. "Well, " she cried finally, dropping from hershoulders the light shawl in which she had been huddled over a bookwhen Corey rang, "I will go down. "

"All right, " said the girl, and Penelope began hastily to amend thedisarray of her hair, which she tumbled into a mass on the top of herlittle head, setting off the pale dark of her complexion with a flashof crimson ribbon at her throat. She moved across the carpet once ortwice with the quaint grace that belonged to her small figure, made adissatisfied grimace at it in the glass, caught a handkerchief out of adrawer and slid it into her pocket, and then descended to Corey. 

The Lapham drawing-room in Nankeen Square was in the parti-colouredpaint which the Colonel had hoped to repeat in his new house: the trimof the doors and windows was in light green and the panels in salmon;the walls were a plain tint of French grey paper, divided by giltmouldings into broad panels with a wide stripe of red velvet paperrunning up the corners; the chandelier was of massive imitation bronze;the mirror over the mantel rested on a fringed mantel-cover of greenreps, and heavy curtains of that stuff hung from gilt lambrequin framesat the window; the carpet was of a small pattern in crude green, which, at the time Mrs. Lapham bought it, covered half the new floors inBoston. In the panelled spaces on the walls were some stone-colouredlandscapes, representing the mountains and canyons of the West, whichthe Colonel and his wife had visited on one of the early officialrailroad excursions. In front of the long windows looking into theSquare were statues, kneeling figures which turned their backs upon thecompany within-doors, and represented allegories of Faith and Prayer topeople without. A white marble group of several figures, expressing anItalian conception of Lincoln Freeing the Slaves, --a Latin negro andhis wife, --with our Eagle flapping his wings in approval, at Lincoln'sfeet, occupied one corner, and balanced the what-not of an earlierperiod in another. These phantasms added their chill to that impartedby the tone of the walls, the landscapes, and the carpets, andcontributed to the violence of the contrast when the chandelier waslighted up full glare, and the heat of the whole furnace welled up fromthe registers into the quivering atmosphere on one of the rareoccasions when the Laphams invited company. 

Corey had not been in this room before; the family had always receivedhim in what they called the sitting-room. Penelope looked into thisfirst, and then she looked into the parlour, with a smile that brokeinto a laugh as she discovered him standing under the single burnerwhich the second-girl had lighted for him in the chandelier. 

"I don't understand how you came to be put in there, " she said, as sheled the way to the cozier place, "unless it was because Alice thoughtyou were only here on probation, anyway. Father hasn't got home yet, but I'm expecting him every moment; I don't know what's keeping him. Did the girl tell you that mother and Irene were out?"

"No, she didn't say. It's very good of you to see me. " She had notseen the exaltation which he had been feeling, he perceived with half asigh; it must all be upon this lower level; perhaps it was best so. "There was something I wished to say to your father----I hope, " hebroke off, "you're better to-night. "

"Oh yes, thank you, " said Penelope, remembering that she had not beenwell enough to go to dinner the night before. 

"We all missed you very much. "

"Oh, thank you! I'm afraid you wouldn't have missed me if I had beenthere. "

"Oh yes, we should, " said Corey, "I assure you. "

They looked at each other. 

"I really think I believed I was saying something, " said the girl. 

"And so did I, " replied the young man. They laughed rather wildly, andthen they both became rather grave. 

He took the chair she gave him, and looked across at her, where she saton the other side of the hearth, in a chair lower than his, with herhands dropped in her lap, and the back of her head on her shoulders asshe looked up at him. The soft-coal fire in the grate purred andflickered; the drop-light cast a mellow radiance on her face. She lether eyes fall, and then lifted them for an irrelevant glance at theclock on the mantel. 

"Mother and Irene have gone to the Spanish Students' concert. "

"Oh, have they?" asked Corey; and he put his hat, which he had beenholding in his hand, on the floor beside his chair. 

She looked down at it for no reason, and then looked up at his face forno other, and turned a little red. Corey turned a little red himself. She who had always been so easy with him now became a littleconstrained. 

"Do you know how warm it is out-of-doors?" he asked. 

"No, is it warm? I haven't been out all day. "

"It's like a summer night. "

She turned her face towards the fire, and then started abruptly. "Perhaps it's too warm for you here?"

"Oh no, it's very comfortable. "

"I suppose it's the cold of the last few days that's still in thehouse. I was reading with a shawl on when you came. "

"I interrupted you. "

"Oh no. I had finished the book. I was just looking over it again. "

"Do you like to read books over?"

"Yes; books that I like at all. "

"That was it?" asked Corey. 

The girl hesitated. "It has rather a sentimental name. Did you everread it?--Tears, Idle Tears. "

"Oh yes; they were talking of that last night; it's a famous book withladies. They break their hearts over it. Did it make you cry?"

"Oh, it's pretty easy to cry over a book, " said Penelope, laughing;"and that one is very natural till you come to the main point. Thenthe naturalness of all the rest makes that seem natural too; but Iguess it's rather forced. "

"Her giving him up to the other one?"

"Yes; simply because she happened to know that the other one had caredfor him first. Why should she have done it? What right had she?"

"I don't know. I suppose that the self-sacrifice----"

"But it WASN'T self-sacrifice--or not self-sacrifice alone. She wassacrificing him too; and for some one who couldn't appreciate him halfas much as she could. I'm provoked with myself when I think how Icried over that book--for I did cry. It's silly--it's wicked for anyone to do what that girl did. Why can't they let people have a chanceto behave reasonably in stories?"

"Perhaps they couldn't make it so attractive, " suggested Corey, with asmile. 

"It would be novel, at any rate, " said the girl. "But so it would inreal life, I suppose, " she added. 

"I don't know. Why shouldn't people in love behave sensibly?"

"That's a very serious question, " said Penelope gravely. "I couldn'tanswer it, " and she left him the embarrassment of supporting an inquirywhich she had certainly instigated herself. She seemed to have finallyrecovered her own ease in doing this. "Do you admire our autumnaldisplay, Mr. Corey?"

"Your display?"

"The trees in the Square. WE think it's quite equal to an opening atJordan & Marsh's. "

"Ah, I'm afraid you wouldn't let me be serious even about your maples. "

"Oh yes, I should--if you like to be serious. "

"Don't you?"

"Well not about serious matters. That's the reason that book made mecry. "

"You make fun of everything. Miss Irene was telling me last nightabout you. "

"Then it's no use for me to deny it so soon. I must give Irene atalking to. "

"I hope you won't forbid her to talk about you!"

She had taken up a fan from the table, and held it, now between herface and the fire, and now between her face and him. Her littlevisage, with that arch, lazy look in it, topped by its mass of duskyhair, and dwindling from the full cheeks to the small chin, had aJapanese effect in the subdued light, and it had the charm which comesto any woman with happiness. It would be hard to say how much of thisshe perceived that he felt. They talked about other things a while, and then she came back to what he had said. She glanced at himobliquely round her fan, and stopped moving it. "Does Irene talk aboutme?" she asked. "I think so--yes. Perhaps it's only I who talk aboutyou. You must blame me if it's wrong, " he returned. 

"Oh, I didn't say it was wrong, " she replied. "But I hope if you saidanything very bad of me you'll let me know what it was, so that I canreform----"

"No, don't change, please!" cried the young man. 

Penelope caught her breath, but went on resolutely, --"or rebuke youfor speaking evil of dignities. " She looked down at the fan, now flatin her lap, and tried to govern her head, but it trembled, and sheremained looking down. Again they let the talk stray, and then it washe who brought it back to themselves, as if it had not left them. 

"I have to talk OF you, " said Corey, "because I get to talk TO you soseldom. "

"You mean that I do all the talking when we're--together?" She glancedsidewise at him; but she reddened after speaking the last word. 

"We're so seldom together, " he pursued. 

"I don't know what you mean----"

"Sometimes I've thought--I've been afraid that you avoided me. "

"Avoided you?"

"Yes! Tried not to be alone with me. "

She might have told him that there was no reason why she should bealone with him, and that it was very strange he should make thiscomplaint of her. But she did not. She kept looking down at the fan, and then she lifted her burning face and looked at the clock again. "Mother and Irene will be sorry to miss you, " she gasped. 

He instantly rose and came towards her. She rose too, and mechanicallyput out her hand. He took it as if to say good-night. "I didn't meanto send you away, " she besought him. 

"Oh, I'm not going, " he answered simply. "I wanted to say--to say thatit's I who make her talk about you. To say I----There is something Iwant to say to you; I've said it so often to myself that I feel as ifyou must know it. " She stood quite still, letting him keep her hand, and questioning his face with a bewildered gaze. "You MUST know--shemust have told you--she must have guessed----" Penelope turned white, but outwardly quelled the panic that sent the blood to her heart. "I--I didn't expect--I hoped to have seen your father--but I must speaknow, whatever----I love you!"

She freed her hand from both of those he had closed upon it, and wentback from him across the room with a sinuous spring. "ME!" Whateverpotential complicity had lurked in her heart, his words brought heronly immeasurable dismay. 

He came towards her again. "Yes, you. Who else?"

She fended him off with an imploring gesture. "I thought--I--itwas----"

She shut her lips tight, and stood looking at him where he remained insilent amaze. Then her words came again, shudderingly. "Oh, what haveyou done?"

"Upon my soul, " he said, with a vague smile, "I don't know. I hope noharm?"

"Oh, don't laugh!" she cried, laughing hysterically herself. "Unlessyou want me to think you the greatest wretch in the world!"

"I?" he responded. "For heaven's sake tell me what you mean!"

"You know I can't tell you. Can you say--can you put your hand on yourheart and say that--you--say you never meant--that you meant me--allalong?"

"Yes!--yes! Who else? I came here to see your father, and to tell himthat I wished to tell you this--to ask him----But what does it matter?You must have known it--you must have seen--and it's for you to answerme. I've been abrupt, I know, and I've startled you; but if you loveme, you can forgive that to my loving you so long before I spoke. "

She gazed at him with parted lips. 

"Oh, mercy! What shall I do? If it's true--what you say--you must go!"she said. "And you must never come any more. Do you promise that?"

"Certainly not, " said the young man. "Why should I promise such athing--so abominably wrong? I could obey if you didn't love me----"

"Oh, I don't! Indeed I don't! Now will you obey. "

"No. I don't believe you. " "Oh!"

He possessed himself of her hand again. 

"My love--my dearest! What is this trouble, that you can't tell it? Itcan't be anything about yourself. If it is anything about any oneelse, it wouldn't make the least difference in the world, no matterwhat it was. I would be only too glad to show by any act or deed Icould that nothing could change me towards you. "

"Oh, you don't understand!"

"No, I don't. You must tell me. "

"I will never do that. "

"Then I will stay here till your mother comes, and ask her what it is. "

"Ask HER?"

"Yes! Do you think I will give you up till I know why I must?"

"You force me to it! Will you go if I tell you, and never let any humancreature know what you have said to me?"

"Not unless you give me leave. "

"That will be never. Well, then----" She stopped, and made two orthree ineffectual efforts to begin again. "No, no! I can't. You mustgo!"

"I will not go!"

"You said you--loved me. If you do, you will go. "

He dropped the hands he had stretched towards her, and she hid her facein her own. 

"There!" she said, turning it suddenly upon him. "Sit down there. Andwill you promise me--on your honour--not to speak--not to try topersuade me--not to--touch me? You won't touch me?"

"I will obey you, Penelope. "

"As if you were never to see me again? As if I were dying?"

"I will do what you say. But I shall see you again; and don't talk ofdying. This is the beginning of life----"

"No. It's the end, " said the girl, resuming at last something of thehoarse drawl which the tumult of her feeling had broken into thosehalf-articulate appeals. She sat down too, and lifted her face towardshim. "It's the end of life for me, because I know now that I must havebeen playing false from the beginning. You don't know what I mean, andI can never tell you. It isn't my secret--it's some one else's. You--you must never come here again. I can't tell you why, and youmust never try to know. Do you promise?"

"You can forbid me. I must do what you say. "

"I do forbid you, then. And you shall not think I am cruel----"

"How could I think that?"

"Oh, how hard you make it!"

Corey laughed for very despair. "Can I make it easier by disobeyingyou?"

"I know I am talking crazily. But I'm not crazy. "

"No, no, " he said, with some wild notion of comforting her; "but try totell me this trouble! There is nothing under heaven--no calamity, nosorrow--that I wouldn't gladly share with you, or take all upon myselfif I could!"

"I know! But this you can't. Oh, my----"

"Dearest! Wait! Think! Let me ask your mother--your father----"

She gave a cry. 

"No! If you do that, you will make me hate you! Will you----"

The rattling of a latch-key was heard in the outer door. 

"Promise!" cried Penelope. 

"Oh, I promise!"

"Good-bye!" She suddenly flung her arms round his neck, and, pressingher cheek tight against his, flashed out of the room by one door as herfather entered it by another. 

Corey turned to him in a daze. "I--I called to speak with you--about amatter----But it's so late now. I'll--I'll see you to-morrow. "

"No time like the present, " said Lapham, with a fierceness that did notseem referable to Corey. He had his hat still on, and he glared at theyoung man out of his blue eyes with a fire that something else musthave kindled there. 

"I really can't now, " said Corey weakly. "It will do quite as wellto-morrow. Good night, sir. "

"Good night, " answered Lapham abruptly, following him to the door, andshutting it after him. "I think the devil must have got into prettymuch everybody to-night, " he muttered, coming back to the room, wherehe put down his hat. Then he went to the kitchen-stairs and calleddown, "Hello, Alice! I want something to eat!"

XVII. 

"WHAT's the reason the girls never get down to breakfast any more?"asked Lapham, when he met his wife at the table in the morning. He hadbeen up an hour and a half, and he spoke with the severity of a hungryman. "It seems to me they don't amount to ANYthing. Here I am, at mytime of life, up the first one in the house. I ring the bell for thecook at quarter-past six every morning, and the breakfast is on thetable at half-past seven right along, like clockwork, but I never seeanybody but you till I go to the office. "

"Oh yes, you do, Si, " said his wife soothingly. "The girls are nearlyalways down. But they're young, and it tires them more than it does usto get up early. "

"They can rest afterwards. They don't do anything after they ARE up, "grumbled Lapham. 

"Well, that's your fault, ain't it? You oughtn't to have made so muchmoney, and then they'd have had to work. " She laughed at Lapham'sSpartan mood, and went on to excuse the young people. "Irene's been uptwo nights hand running, and Penelope says she ain't well. What makesyou so cross about the girls? Been doing something you're ashamed of?"

"I'll tell you when I've been doing anything to be ashamed of, " growledLapham. 

"Oh no, you won't!" said his wife jollily. "You'll only be hard on therest of us. Come now, Si; what is it?"

Lapham frowned into his coffee with sulky dignity, and said, withoutlooking up, "I wonder what that fellow wanted here last night?" "Whatfellow?"

"Corey. I found him here when I came home, and he said he wanted to seeme; but he wouldn't stop. "

"Where was he?"

"In the sitting-room. "

"Was Pen there?"

"I didn't see her. "

Mrs. Lapham paused, with her hand on the cream-jug. "Why, what in theland did he want? Did he say he wanted you?"

"That's what he said. "

"And then he wouldn't stay?"

"Well, then, I'll tell you just what it is, Silas Lapham. He camehere"--she looked about the room and lowered her voice--"to see youabout Irene, and then he hadn't the courage. "

"I guess he's got courage enough to do pretty much what he wants to, "said Lapham glumly. "All I know is, he was here. You better ask Penabout it, if she ever gets down. "

"I guess I shan't wait for her, " said Mrs. Lapham; and, as her husbandclosed the front door after him, she opened that of her daughter's roomand entered abruptly. 

The girl sat at the window, fully dressed, and as if she had beensitting there a long time. Without rising, she turned her face towardsher mother. It merely showed black against the light, and revealednothing till her mother came close to her with successive questions. "Why, how long have you been up, Pen? Why don't you come to yourbreakfast? Did you see Mr. Corey when he called last night? Why, what'sthe matter with you? What have you been crying about?"

"Have I been crying?"

"Yes! Your cheeks are all wet!"

"I thought they were on fire. Well, I'll tell you what's happened. "She rose, and then fell back in her chair. "Lock the door!" sheordered, and her mother mechanically obeyed. "I don't want Irene inhere. There's nothing the matter. Only, Mr. Corey offered himself tome last night. "

Her mother remained looking at her, helpless, not so much with amaze, perhaps, as dismay. "Oh, I'm not a ghost! I wish I was! You had bettersit down, mother. You have got to know all about it. "

Mrs. Lapham dropped nervelessly into the chair at the other window, andwhile the girl went slowly but briefly on, touching only the vitalpoints of the story, and breaking at times into a bitter drollery, shesat as if without the power to speak or stir. 

"Well, that's all, mother. I should say I had dreamt, it, if I hadslept any last night; but I guess it really happened. "

The mother glanced round at the bed, and said, glad to occupy herselfdelayingly with the minor care: "Why, you have been sitting up allnight! You will kill yourself. "

"I don't know about killing myself, but I've been sitting up allnight, " answered the girl. Then, seeing that her mother remainedblankly silent again, she demanded, "Why don't you blame me, mother?Why don't you say that I led him on, and tried to get him away fromher? Don't you believe I did?"

Her mother made her no answer, as if these ravings of self-accusalneeded none. "Do you think, " she asked simply, "that he got the ideayou cared for him?"

"He knew it! How could I keep it from him? I said I didn't--at first!"

"It was no use, " sighed the mother. "You might as well said you did. It couldn't help Irene any, if you didn't. "

"I always tried to help her with him, even when I----"

"Yes, I know. But she never was equal to him. I saw that from thestart; but I tried to blind myself to it. And when he kept coming----"

"You never thought of me!" cried the girl, with a bitterness thatreached her mother's heart. "I was nobody! I couldn't feel! No onecould care for me!" The turmoil of despair, of triumph, of remorse andresentment, which filled her soul, tried to express itself in the words. 

"No, " said the mother humbly. "I didn't think of you. Or I didn'tthink of you enough. It did come across me sometimes that maybe----But it didn't seem as if----And your going on so for Irene----"

"You let me go on. You made me always go and talk with him for her, and you didn't think I would talk to him for myself. Well, I didn't!"

"I'm punished for it. When did you--begin to care for him!"

"How do I know? What difference does it make? It's all over now, nomatter when it began. He won't come here any more, unless I let him. "She could not help betraying her pride in this authority of hers, butshe went on anxiously enough, "What will you say to Irene? She's safeas far as I'm concerned; but if he don't care for her, what will youdo?"

"I don't know what to do, " said Mrs. Lapham. She sat in an apathy fromwhich she apparently could not rouse herself. "I don't see as anythingcan be done. "

Penelope laughed in a pitying derision. 

"Well, let things go on then. But they won't go on. "

"No, they won't go on, " echoed her mother. "She's pretty enough, andshe's capable; and your father's got the money--I don't know what I'msaying! She ain't equal to him, and she never was. I kept feeling itall the time, and yet I kept blinding myself. "

"If he had ever cared for her, " said Penelope, "it wouldn't havemattered whether she was equal to him or not. I'M not equal to himeither. "

Her mother went on: "I might have thought it was you; but I had gotset----Well! I can see it all clear enough, now it's too late. I don'tknow what to do. "

"And what do you expect me to do?" demanded the girl. "Do you want MEto go to Irene and tell her that I've got him away from her?"

"O good Lord!" cried Mrs. Lapham. "What shall I do? What do you want Ishould do, Pen?"

"Nothing for me, " said Penelope. "I've had it out with myself. Now dothe best you can for Irene. "

"I couldn't say you had done wrong, if you was to marry him to-day. "

"Mother!"

"No, I couldn't. I couldn't say but what you had been good andfaithfull all through, and you had a perfect right to do it. Thereain't any one to blame. He's behaved like a gentleman, and I can seenow that he never thought of her, and that it was you all the while. Well, marry him, then! He's got the right, and so have you. "

"What about Irene? I don't want you to talk about me. I can take careof myself. "

"She's nothing but a child. It's only a fancy with her. She'll getover it. She hain't really got her heart set on him. "

"She's got her heart set on him, mother. She's got her whole life seton him. You know that. "

"Yes, that's so, " said the mother, as promptly as if she had beenarguing to that rather than the contrary effect. 

"If I could give him to her, I would. But he isn't mine to give. " Sheadded in a burst of despair, "He isn't mine to keep!"

"Well, " said Mrs. Lapham, "she has got to bear it. I don't know what'sto come of it all. But she's got to bear her share of it. " She roseand went toward the door. 

Penelope ran after her in a sort of terror. "You're not going to tellIrene?" she gasped, seizing her mother by either shoulder. 

"Yes, I am, " said Mrs. Lapham. "If she's a woman grown, she can bear awoman's burden. "

"I can't let you tell Irene, " said the girl, letting fall her face onher mother's neck. "Not Irene, " she moaned. "I'm afraid to let you. How can I ever look at her again?"

"Why, you haven't done anything, Pen, " said her mother soothingly. 

"I wanted to! Yes, I must have done something. How could I help it? Idid care for him from the first, and I must have tried to make him likeme. Do you think I did? No, no! You mustn't tell Irene! Not--not--yet! Mother! Yes! I did try to get him from her!" she cried, lifting her head, and suddenly looking her mother in the face withthose large dim eyes of hers. "What do you think? Even last night! Itwas the first time I ever had him all to myself, for myself, and I knownow that I tried to make him think that I was pretty and--funny. And Ididn't try to make him think of her. I knew that I pleased him, and Itried to please him more. Perhaps I could have kept him from sayingthat he cared for me; but when I saw he did--I must have seen it--Icouldn't. I had never had him to myself, and for myself before. Ineedn't have seen him at all, but I wanted to see him; and when I wassitting there alone with him, how do I know what I did to let him feelthat I cared for him? Now, will you tell Irene? I never thought he didcare for me, and never expected him to. But I liked him. Yes--I didlike him! Tell her that! Or else I will. "

"If it was to tell her he was dead, " began Mrs. Lapham absently. 

"How easy it would be!" cried the girl in self-mockery. "But he'sworse than dead to her; and so am I. I've turned it over a millionways, mother; I've looked at it in every light you can put it in, and Ican't make anything but misery out of it. You can see the misery atthe first glance, and you can't see more or less if you spend your lifelooking at it. " She laughed again, as if the hopelessness of the thingamused her. Then she flew to the extreme of self-assertion. "Well, IHAVE a right to him, and he has a right to me. If he's never doneanything to make her think he cared for her, --and I know he hasn't;it's all been our doing, then he's free and I'm free. We can't makeher happy whatever we do; and why shouldn't I----No, that won't do! Ireached that point before!" She broke again into her desperate laugh. "You may try now, mother!"

"I'd best speak to your father first----"

Penelope smiled a little more forlornly than she had laughed. 

"Well, yes; the Colonel will have to know. It isn't a trouble that Ican keep to myself exactly. It seems to belong to too many otherpeople. "

Her mother took a crazy encouragement from her return to her old way ofsaying things. "Perhaps he can think of something. "

"Oh, I don't doubt but the Colonel will know just what to do!"

"You mustn't be too down-hearted about it. It--it'll all comeright----"

"You tell Irene that, mother. "

Mrs. Lapham had put her hand on the door-key; she dropped it, andlooked at the girl with a sort of beseeching appeal for the comfort shecould not imagine herself. "Don't look at me, mother, " said Penelope, shaking her head. "You know that if Irene were to die without knowingit, it wouldn't come right for me. "

"Pen!"

"I've read of cases where a girl gives up the man that loves her so asto make some other girl happy that the man doesn't love. That might bedone. "

"Your father would think you were a fool, " said Mrs. Lapham, finding asort of refuge in her strong disgust for the pseudo heroism. "No! Ifthere's to be any giving up, let it be by the one that shan't makeanybody but herself suffer. There's trouble and sorrow enough in theworld, without MAKING it on purpose!"

She unlocked the door, but Penelope slipped round and set herselfagainst it. "Irene shall not give up!"

"I will see your father about it, " said the mother. "Let me outnow----"

"Don't let Irene come here!"

"No. I will tell her that you haven't slept. Go to bed now, and try toget some rest. She isn't up herself yet. You must have somebreakfast. "

"No; let me sleep if I can. I can get something when I wake up. I'llcome down if I can't sleep. Life has got to go on. It does whenthere's a death in the house, and this is only a little worse. "

"Don't you talk nonsense!" cried Mrs. Lapham, with angry authority. 

"Well, a little better, then, " said Penelope, with meek concession. 

Mrs. Lapham attempted to say something, and could not. She went outand opened Irene's door. The girl lifted her head drowsily from herpillow "Don't disturb your sister when you get up, Irene. She hasn'tslept well----"

"PLEASE don't talk! I'm almost DEAD with sleep!" returned Irene. "Dogo, mamma! I shan't disturb her. " She turned her face down in thepillow, and pulled the covering up over her ears. 

The mother slowly closed the door and went downstairs, feelingbewildered and baffled almost beyond the power to move. The time hadbeen when she would have tried to find out why this judgment had beensent upon her. But now she could not feel that the innocent sufferingof others was inflicted for her fault; she shrank instinctively fromthat cruel and egotistic misinterpretation of the mystery of pain andloss. She saw her two children, equally if differently dear to her, destined to trouble that nothing could avert, and she could not blameeither of them; she could not blame the means of this misery to them;he was as innocent as they, and though her heart was sore against himin this first moment, she could still be just to him in it. She was awoman who had been used to seek the light by striving; she had hithertoliterally worked to it. But it is the curse of prosperity that ittakes work away from us, and shuts that door to hope and health ofspirit. In this house, where everything had come to be done for her, she had no tasks to interpose between her and her despair. She satdown in her own room and let her hands fall in her lap, --the hands thathad once been so helpful and busy, --and tried to think it all out. Shehad never heard of the fate that was once supposed to appoint thesorrows of men irrespective of their blamelessness or blame, before thetime when it came to be believed that sorrows were penalties; but inher simple way she recognised something like that mythic power when sherose from her struggle with the problem, and said aloud to herself, "Well, the witch is in it. " Turn which way she would, she saw no escapefrom the misery to come--the misery which had come already to Penelopeand herself, and that must come to Irene and her father. She startedwhen she definitely thought of her husband, and thought with whatviolence it would work in every fibre of his rude strength. She fearedthat, and she feared something worse--the effect which his pride andambition might seek to give it; and it was with terror of this, as wellas the natural trust with which a woman must turn to her husband in anyanxiety at last, that she felt she could not wait for evening to takecounsel with him. When she considered how wrongly he might take itall, it seemed as if it were already known to him, and she wasimpatient to prevent his error. 

She sent out for a messenger, whom she despatched with a note to hisplace of business: "Silas, I should like to ride with you thisafternoon. Can't you come home early? Persis. " And she was at dinnerwith Irene, evading her questions about Penelope, when answer came thathe would be at the house with the buggy at half-past two. It is easyto put off a girl who has but one thing in her head; but though Mrs. Lapham could escape without telling anything of Penelope, she could notescape seeing how wholly Irene was engrossed with hopes now turned sovain and impossible. She was still talking of that dinner, of nothingbut that dinner, and begging for flattery of herself and praise of him, which her mother had till now been so ready to give. 

"Seems to me you don't take very much interest, mamma!" she said, laughing and blushing at one point. 

"Yes, --yes, I do, " protested Mrs. Lapham, and then the girl prattled on. 

"I guess I shall get one of those pins that Nanny Corey had in herhair. I think it would become me, don't you?" "Yes; but Irene--I don'tlike to have you go on so, till--unless he's said something toshow--You oughtn't to give yourself up to thinking----" But at this thegirl turned so white, and looked such reproach at her, that she addedfrantically: "Yes, get the pin. It is just the thing for you! Butdon't disturb Penelope. Let her alone till I get back. I'm going outto ride with your father. He'll be here in half an hour. Are youthrough? Ring, then. Get yourself that fan you saw the other day. Your father won't say anything; he likes to have you look well. Icould see his eyes on you half the time the other night. "

"I should have liked to have Pen go with me, " said Irene, restored toher normal state of innocent selfishness by these flatteries. "Don'tyou suppose she'll be up in time? What's the matter with her that shedidn't sleep?"

"I don't know. Better let her alone. "

"Well, " submitted Irene. 

XVIII. 

MRS. LAPHAM went away to put on her bonnet and cloak, and she waswaiting at the window when her husband drove up. She opened the doorand ran down the steps. "Don't get out; I can help myself in, " and sheclambered to his side, while he kept the fidgeting mare still withvoice and touch. 

"Where do you want I should go?" he asked, turning the buggy. 

"Oh, I don't care. Out Brookline way, I guess. I wish you hadn'tbrought this fool of a horse, " she gave way petulantly. "I wanted tohave a talk. "

"When I can't drive this mare and talk too, I'll sell out altogether, "said Lapham. "She'll be quiet enough when she's had her spin. "

"Well, " said his wife; and while they were making their way across thecity to the Milldam she answered certain questions he asked about somepoints in the new house. 

"I should have liked to have you stop there, " he began; but sheanswered so quickly, "Not to-day, " that he gave it up and turned hishorse's head westward when they struck Beacon Street. 

He let the mare out, and he did not pull her in till he left theBrighton road and struck off under the low boughs that met above one ofthe quiet streets of Brookline, where the stone cottages, with here andthere a patch of determined ivy on their northern walls, did what theycould to look English amid the glare of the autumnal foliage. Thesmooth earthen track under the mare's hoofs was scattered with flakesof the red and yellow gold that made the air luminous around them, andthe perspective was gay with innumerable tints and tones. 

"Pretty sightly, " said Lapham, with a long sign, letting the reins lieloose in his vigilant hand, to which he seemed to relegate the wholecharge of the mare. "I want to talk with you about Rogers, Persis. He's been getting in deeper and deeper with me; and last night hepestered me half to death to go in with him in one of his schemes. Iain't going to blame anybody, but I hain't got very much confidence inRogers. And I told him so last night. "

"Oh, don't talk to me about Rogers!" his wife broke in. "There'ssomething a good deal more important than Rogers in the world, and moreimportant than your business. It seems as if you couldn't think ofanything else--that and the new house. Did you suppose I wanted toride so as to talk Rogers with you?" she demanded, yielding to thenecessity a wife feels of making her husband pay for her suffering, even if he has not inflicted it. "I declare----"

"Well, hold on, now!" said Lapham. "What DO you want to talk about?I'm listening. "

His wife began, "Why, it's just this, Silas Lapham!" and then she brokeoff to say, "Well, you may wait, now--starting me wrong, when it's hardenough anyway. "

Lapham silently turned his whip over and over in his hand and waited. 

"Did you suppose, " she asked at last, "that that young Corey had beencoming to see Irene?"

"I don't know what I supposed, " replied Lapham sullenly. "You alwayssaid so. " He looked sharply at her under his lowering brows. 

"Well, he hasn't, " said Mrs. Lapham; and she replied to the frown thatblackened on her husband's face. "And I can tell you what, if you takeit in that way I shan't speak another word. "

"Who's takin' it what way?" retorted Lapham savagely. "What are youdrivin' at?"

"I want you should promise that you'll hear me out quietly. "

"I'll hear you out if you'll give me a chance. I haven't said a wordyet. "

"Well, I'm not going to have you flying into forty furies, and lookinglike a perfect thunder-cloud at the very start. I've had to bear it, and you've got to bear it too. "

"Well, let me have a chance at it, then. "

"It's nothing to blame anybody about, as I can see, and the onlyquestion is, what's the best thing to do about it. There's only onething we can do; for if he don't care for the child, nobody wants tomake him. If he hasn't been coming to see her, he hasn't, and that'sall there is to it. "

"No, it ain't!" exclaimed Lapham. 

"There!" protested his wife. 

"If he hasn't been coming to see her, what HAS he been coming for?"

"He's been coming to see Pen!" cried the wife. "NOW are yousatisfied?" Her tone implied that he had brought it all upon them; butat the sight of the swift passions working in his face to a perfectcomprehension of the whole trouble, she fell to trembling, and herbroken voice lost all the spurious indignation she had put into it. "OSilas! what are we going to do about it? I'm afraid it'll kill Irene. "

Lapham pulled off the loose driving-glove from his right hand with thefingers of his left, in which the reins lay. He passed it over hisforehead, and then flicked from it the moisture it had gathered there. He caught his breath once or twice, like a man who meditates a strugglewith superior force and then remains passive in its grasp. 

His wife felt the need of comforting him, as she had felt the need ofafflicting him. "I don't say but what it can be made to come out allright in the end. All I say is, I don't see my way clear yet. "

"What makes you think he likes Pen?" he asked quietly. 

"He told her so last night, and she told me this morning. Was he atthe office to-day?"

"Yes, he was there. I haven't been there much myself. He didn't sayanything to me. Does Irene know?"

"No; I left her getting ready to go out shopping. She wants to get apin like the one Nanny Corey had on. " "O my Lord!" groaned Lapham. 

"It's been Pen from the start, I guess, or almost from the start. Idon't say but what he was attracted some by Irene at the very first;but I guess it's been Pen ever since he saw her; and we've taken upwith a notion, and blinded ourselves with it. Time and again I've hadmy doubts whether he cared for Irene any; but I declare to goodness, when he kept coming, I never hardly thought of Pen, and I couldn't helpbelieving at last he DID care for Irene. Did it ever strike you hemight be after Pen?"

"No. I took what you said. I supposed you knew. "

"Do you blame me, Silas?" she asked timidly. 

"No. What's the use of blaming? We don't either of us want anything butthe children's good. What's it all of it for, if it ain't for that?That's what we've both slaved for all our lives. "

"Yes, I know. Plenty of people LOSE their children, " she suggested. 

"Yes, but that don't comfort me any. I never was one to feel goodbecause another man felt bad. How would you have liked it if some onehad taken comfort because his boy lived when ours died? No, I can't doit. And this is worse than death, someways. That comes and it goes;but this looks as if it was one of those things that had come to stay. The way I look at it, there ain't any hope for anybody. Suppose wedon't want Pen to have him; will that help Irene any, if he don't wanther? Suppose we don't want to let him have either; does that helpeither!"

"You talk, " exclaimed Mrs. Lapham, "as if our say was going to settleit. Do you suppose that Penelope Lapham is a girl to take up with afellow that her sister is in love with, and that she always thought wasin love with her sister, and go off and be happy with him? Don't youbelieve but what it would come back to her, as long as she breathed thebreath of life, how she'd teased her about him, as I've heard Pen teaseIrene, and helped to make her think he was in love with her, by showingthat she thought so herself? It's ridiculous!"

Lapham seemed quite beaten down by this argument. His huge head hungforward over his breast; the reins lay loose in his moveless hand; themare took her own way. At last he lifted his face and shut his heavyjaws. 

"Well?" quavered his wife. 

"Well, " he answered, "if he wants her, and she wants him, I don't seewhat that's got to do with it. " He looked straight forward, and not athis wife. 

She laid her hands on the reins. "Now, you stop right here, SilasLapham! If I thought that--if I really believed you could be willing tobreak that poor child's heart, and let Pen disgrace herself by marryinga man that had as good as killed her sister, just because you wantedBromfield Corey's son for a son-in-law----"

Lapham turned his face now, and gave her a look. "You had better NOTbelieve that, Persis! Get up!" he called to the mare, without glancingat her, and she sprang forward. "I see you've got past being any useto yourself on this subject. "

"Hello!" shouted a voice in front of him. "Where the devil you goin'to?"

"Do you want to KILL somebody!" shrieked his wife. 

There was a light crash, and the mare recoiled her length, andseparated their wheels from those of the open buggy in front whichLapham had driven into. He made his excuses to the occupant; and theaccident relieved the tension of their feelings, and left them far fromthe point of mutual injury which they had reached in their commontrouble and their unselfish will for their children's good. 

It was Lapham who resumed the talk. "I'm afraid we can't either of ussee this thing in the right light. We're too near to it. I wish tothe Lord there was somebody to talk to about it. "

"Yes, " said his wife; "but there ain't anybody. "

"Well, I dunno, " suggested Lapham, after a moment; "why not talk to theminister of your church? May be he could see some way out of it. "

Mrs. Lapham shook her head hopelessly. "It wouldn't do. I've nevertaken up my connection with the church, and I don't feel as if I'd gotany claim on him. "

"If he's anything of a man, or anything of a preacher, you HAVE got aclaim on him, " urged Lapham; and he spoiled his argument by adding, "I've contributed enough MONEY to his church. "

"Oh, that's nothing, " said Mrs. Lapham. "I ain't well enoughacquainted with Dr. Langworthy, or else I'm TOO well. No; if I was toask any one, I should want to ask a total stranger. But what's theuse, Si? Nobody could make us see it any different from what it is, andI don't know as I should want they should. "

It blotted out the tender beauty of the day, and weighed down theirhearts ever more heavily within them. They ceased to talk of it ahundred times, and still came back to it. They drove on and on. Itbegan to be late. "I guess we better go back, Si, " said his wife; andas he turned without speaking, she pulled her veil down and began tocry softly behind it, with low little broken sobs. 

Lapham started the mare up and drove swiftly homeward. At last hiswife stopped crying and began trying to find her pocket. "Here, takemine, Persis, " he said kindly, offering her his handkerchief, and shetook it and dried her eyes with it. "There was one of those fellowsthere the other night, " he spoke again, when his wife leaned backagainst the cushions in peaceful despair, "that I liked the looks ofabout as well as any man I ever saw. I guess he was a pretty good man. It was that Mr. Sewell. "

He looked at his wife, but she did not say anything. "Persis, " heresumed, "I can't bear to go back with nothing settled in our minds. Ican't bear to let you. "

"We must, Si, " returned his wife, with gentle gratitude. Laphamgroaned. "Where does he live?" she asked. 

"On Bolingbroke Street. He gave me his number. "

"Well, it wouldn't do any good. What could he say to us?"

"Oh, I don't know as he could say anything, " said Lapham hopelessly;and neither of them said anything more till they crossed the Milldamand found themselves between the rows of city houses. 

"Don't drive past the new house, Si, " pleaded his wife. "I couldn'tbear to see it. Drive--drive up Bolingbroke Street. We might as wellsee where he DOES live. "

"Well, " said Lapham. He drove along slowly. "That's the place, " hesaid finally, stopping the mare and pointing with his whip. 

"It wouldn't do any good, " said his wife, in a tone which he understoodas well as he understood her words. He turned the mare up to thecurbstone. 

"You take the reins a minute, " he said, handing them to his wife. 

He got down and rang the bell, and waited till the door opened; then hecame back and lifted his wife out. "He's in, " he said. 

He got the hitching-weight from under the buggy-seat and made it fastto the mare's bit. 

"Do you think she'll stand with that?" asked Mrs. Lapham. 

"I guess so. If she don't, no matter. "

"Ain't you afraid she'll take cold, " she persisted, trying to makedelay. 

"Let her!" said Lapham. He took his wife's trembling hand under hisarm, and drew her to the door. 

"He'll think we're crazy, " she murmured in her broken pride. 

"Well, we ARE, " said Lapham. "Tell him we'd like to see him alone awhile, " he said to the girl who was holding the door ajar for him, andshe showed him into the reception-room, which had been the Protestantconfessional for many burdened souls before their time, coming, as theydid, with the belief that they were bowed down with the only miserylike theirs in the universe; for each one of us must suffer long tohimself before he can learn that he is but one in a great community ofwretchedness which has been pitilessly repeating itself from thefoundation of the world. 

They were as loath to touch their trouble when the minister came in asif it were their disgrace; but Lapham did so at last, and, with asimple dignity which he had wanted in his bungling and apologeticapproaches, he laid the affair clearly before the minister'scompassionate and reverent eye. He spared Corey's name, but he did notpretend that it was not himself and his wife and their daughters whowere concerned. 

"I don't know as I've got any right to trouble you with this thing, " hesaid, in the moment while Sewell sat pondering the case, "and I don'tknow as I've got any warrant for doing it. But, as I told my wifehere, there was something about you--I don't know whether it wasanything you SAID exactly--that made me feel as if you could help us. I guess I didn't say so much as that to her; but that's the way I felt. And here we are. And if it ain't all right. "

"Surely, " said Sewell, "it's all right. I thank you for coming--fortrusting your trouble to me. A time comes to every one of us when wecan't help ourselves, and then we must get others to help us. Ifpeople turn to me at such a time, I feel sure that I was put into theworld for something--if nothing more than to give my pity, my sympathy. "

The brotherly words, so plain, so sincere, had a welcome in them thatthese poor outcasts of sorrow could not doubt. 

"Yes, " said Lapham huskily, and his wife began to wipe the tears againunder her veil. 

Sewell remained silent, and they waited till he should speak. "We canbe of use to one another here, because we can always be wiser for someone else than we can for ourselves. We can see another's sins anderrors in a more merciful light--and that is always a fairerlight--than we can our own; and we can look more sanely at others'afflictions. " He had addressed these words to Lapham; now he turned tohis wife. "If some one had come to you, Mrs. Lapham, in just thisperplexity, what would you have thought?"

"I don't know as I understand you, " faltered Mrs. Lapham. 

Sewell repeated his words, and added, "I mean, what do you think someone else ought to do in your place?"

"Was there ever any poor creatures in such a strait before?" she asked, with pathetic incredulity. 

"There's no new trouble under the sun, " said the minister. 

"Oh, if it was any one else, I should say--I should say--Why, ofcourse! I should say that their duty was to let----" She paused. 

"One suffer instead of three, if none is to blame?" suggested Sewell. "That's sense, and that's justice. It's the economy of pain whichnaturally suggests itself, and which would insist upon itself, if wewere not all perverted by traditions which are the figment of theshallowest sentimentality. Tell me, Mrs. Lapham, didn't this come intoyour mind when you first learned how matters stood?"

"Why, yes, it flashed across me. But I didn't think it could be right. "

"And how was it with you, Mr. Lapham?"

"Why, that's what I thought, of course. But I didn't see my way----"

"No, " cried the minister, "we are all blinded, we are all weakened by afalse ideal of self-sacrifice. It wraps us round with its meshes, andwe can't fight our way out of it. Mrs. Lapham, what made you feel thatit might be better for three to suffer than one?"

"Why, she did herself. I know she would die sooner than take him awayfrom her. "

"I supposed so!" cried the minister bitterly. "And yet she is asensible girl, your daughter?"

"She has more common-sense----"

"Of course! But in such a case we somehow think it must be wrong to useour common-sense. I don't know where this false ideal comes from, unless it comes from the novels that befool and debauch almost everyintelligence in some degree. It certainly doesn't come fromChristianity, which instantly repudiates it when confronted with it. Your daughter believes, in spite of her common-sense, that she ought tomake herself and the man who loves her unhappy, in order to assure thelife-long wretchedness of her sister, whom he doesn't love, simplybecause her sister saw him and fancied him first! And I'm sorry to saythat ninety-nine young people out of a hundred--oh, nine hundred andninety-nine out of a thousand!--would consider that noble and beautifuland heroic; whereas you know at the bottom of your hearts that it wouldbe foolish and cruel and revolting. You know what marriage is! Andwhat it must be without love on both sides. "

The minister had grown quite heated and red in the face. 

"I lose all patience!" he went on vehemently. "This poor child ofyours has somehow been brought to believe that it will kill her sisterif her sister does not have what does not belong to her, and what it isnot in the power of all the world, or any soul in the world, to giveher. Her sister will suffer--yes, keenly!--in heart and in pride; butshe will not die. You will suffer too, in your tenderness for her; butyou must do your duty. You must help her to give up. You would beguilty if you did less. Keep clearly in mind that you are doing right, and the only possible good. And God be with you!"

XIX. 

"HE talked sense, Persis, " said Lapham gently, as he mounted to hiswife's side in the buggy and drove slowly homeward through the dusk. 

"Yes, he talked sense, " she admitted. But she added bitterly, "Iguess, if he had it to DO! Oh, he's right, and it's got to be done. There ain't any other way for it. It's sense; and, yes, it's justice. "They walked to their door after they left the horse at the liverystable around the corner, where Lapham kept it. "I want you shouldsend Irene up to our room as soon as we get in, Silas. "

"Why, ain't you going to have any supper first?" faltered Lapham withhis latch-key in the lock. 

"No. I can't lose a minute. If I do, I shan't do it at all. "

"Look here, Persis, " said her husband tenderly, "let me do this thing. "

"Oh, YOU!" said his wife, with a woman's compassionate scorn for aman's helplessness in such a case. "Send her right up. And I shallfeel----" She stopped to spare him. 

Then she opened the door, and ran up to her room without waiting tospeak to Irene, who had come into the hall at the sound of her father'skey in the door. 

"I guess your mother wants to see you upstairs, " said Lapham, lookingaway. 

Her mother turned round and faced the girl's wondering look as Ireneentered the chamber, so close upon her that she had not yet had time tolay off her bonnet; she stood with her wraps still on her arm. 

"Irene!" she said harshly, "there is something you have got to bear. It's a mistake we've all made. He don't care anything for you. Henever did. He told Pen so last night. He cares for her. "

The sentences had fallen like blows. But the girl had taken themwithout flinching. She stood up immovable, but the delicate rose-lightof her complexion went out and left her colourless. She did not offerto speak. 

"Why don't you say something?" cried her mother. "Do you want to killme, Irene?"

"Why should I want to hurt you, mamma?" the girl replied steadily, butin an alien voice. "There's nothing to say. I want to see Pen aminute. "

She turned and left the room. As she mounted the stairs that led toher own and her sister's rooms on the floor above, her motherhelplessly followed. Irene went first to her own room at the front ofthe house, and then came out leaving the door open and the gas flaringbehind her. The mother could see that she had tumbled many things outof the drawers of her bureau upon the marble top. 

She passed her mother, where she stood in the entry. "You can cometoo, if you want to, mamma, " she said. 

She opened Penelope's door without knocking, and went in. Penelope satat the window, as in the morning. Irene did not go to her; but shewent and laid a gold hair-pin on her bureau, and said, without lookingat her, "There's a pin that I got to-day, because it was like hissister's. It won't become a dark person so well, but you can have it. "

She stuck a scrap of paper in the side of Penelope's mirror. "There'sthat account of Mr. Stanton's ranch. You'll want to read it, Ipresume. "

She laid a withered boutonniere on the bureau beside the pin. "There'shis button-hole bouquet. He left it by his plate, and I stole it. "

She had a pine-shaving fantastically tied up with a knot of ribbon, inher hand. She held it a moment; then, looking deliberately atPenelope, she went up to her, and dropped it in her lap without a word. She turned, and, advancing a few steps, tottered and seemed about tofall. 

Her mother sprang forward with an imploring cry, "O 'Rene, 'Rene, 'Rene!"

Irene recovered herself before her mother could reach her. "Don'ttouch me, " she said icily. "Mamma, I'm going to put on my things. Iwant papa to walk with me. I'm choking here. "

"I--I can't let you go out, Irene, child, " began her mother. 

"You've got to, " replied the girl. "Tell papa ta hurry his supper. "

"O poor soul! He doesn't want any supper. HE knows it too. "

"I don't want to talk about that. Tell him to get ready. "

She left them once more. 

Mrs. Lapham turned a hapless glance upon Penelope. 

"Go and tell him, mother, " said the girl. "I would, if I could. Ifshe can walk, let her. It's the only thing for her. " She sat still;she did not even brush to the floor the fantastic thing that lay in herlap, and that sent up faintly the odour of the sachet powder with whichIrene liked to perfume her boxes. 

Lapham went out with the unhappy child, and began to talk with her, crazily, incoherently, enough. 

She mercifully stopped him. "Don't talk, papa. I don't want any oneshould talk with me. "

He obeyed, and they walked silently on and on. In their aimless coursethey reached the new house on the water side of Beacon, and she madehim stop, and stood looking up at it. The scaffolding which had solong defaced the front was gone, and in the light of the gas-lampbefore it all the architectural beauty of the facade was suggested, andmuch of the finely felt detail was revealed. Seymour had pretty nearlysatisfied himself in that rich facade; certainly Lapham had not stintedhim of the means. 

"Well, " said the girl, "I shall never live in it, " and she began towalk on. 

Lapham's sore heart went down, as he lumbered heavily after her. "Ohyes, you will, Irene. You'll have lots of good times there yet. "

"No, " she answered, and said nothing more about it. They had nottalked of their trouble at all, and they did not speak of it now. Lapham understood that she was trying to walk herself weary, and he wasglad to hold his peace and let her have her way. She halted him oncemore before the red and yellow lights of an apothecary's window. 

"Isn't there something they give you to make you sleep?" she askedvaguely. "I've got to sleep to-night!"

Lapham trembled. "I guess you don't want anything, Irene. "

"Yes, I do! Get me something!" she retorted wilfully. "If you don't, Ishall die. I MUST sleep. "

They went in, and Lapham asked for something to make a nervous personsleep. Irene stood poring over the show-case full of brushes andtrinkets, while the apothecary put up the bromide, which he guessedwould be about the best thing. She did not show any emotion; her facewas like a stone, while her father's expressed the anguish of hissympathy. He looked as if he had not slept for a week; his fat eyelidsdrooped over his glassy eyes, and his cheeks and throat hung flaccid. He started as the apothecary's cat stole smoothly up and rubbed itselfagainst his leg; and it was to him that the man said, "You want to takea table-spoonful of that, as long as you're awake. I guess it won'ttake a great many to fetch you. " "All right, " said Lapham, and paid andwent out. "I don't know but I SHALL want some of it, " he said, with ajoyless laugh. 

Irene came closer up to him and took his arm. He laid his heavy paw onher gloved fingers. After a while she said, "I want you should let mego up to Lapham to-morrow. "

"To Lapham? Why, to-morrow's Sunday, Irene! You can't go to-morrow. "

"Well, Monday, then. I can live through one day here. "

"Well, " said the father passively. He made no pretence of asking herwhy she wished to go, nor any attempt to dissuade her. 

"Give me that bottle, " she said, when he opened the door at home forher, and she ran up to her own room. 

The next morning Irene came to breakfast with her mother; the Coloneland Penelope did not appear, and Mrs. Lapham looked sleep-broken andcareworn. 

The girl glanced at her. "Don't you fret about me, mamma, " she said. "I shall get along. " She seemed herself as steady and strong as rock. 

"I don't like to see you keeping up so, Irene, " replied her mother. "It'll be all the worse for you when you do break. Better give way alittle at the start. "

"I shan't break, and I've given way all I'm going to. I'm going toLapham to-morrow, --I want you should go with me, mamma, --and I guess Ican keep up one day here. All about it is, I don't want you should sayanything, or LOOK anything. And, whatever I do, I don't want youshould try to stop me. And, the first thing, I'm going to take herbreakfast up to her. Don't!" she cried, intercepting the protest onher mother's lips. "I shall not let it hurt Pen, if I can help it. She's never done a thing nor thought a thing to wrong me. I had to flyout at her last night; but that's all over now, and I know just whatI've got to bear. "

She had her way unmolested. She carried Penelope's breakfast to her, and omitted no care or attention that could make the sacrificecomplete, with an heroic pretence that she was performing no unusualservice. They did not speak, beyond her saying, in a clear dry note, "Here's your breakfast, Pen, " and her sister's answering, hoarsely andtremulously, "Oh, thank you, Irene. " And, though two or three timesthey turned their faces toward each other while Irene remained in theroom, mechanically putting its confusion to rights, their eyes did notmeet. Then Irene descended upon the other rooms, which she set inorder, and some of which she fiercely swept and dusted. She made thebeds; and she sent the two servants away to church as soon as they hadeaten their breakfast, telling them that she would wash their dishes. Throughout the morning her father and mother heard her about the workof getting dinner, with certain silences which represented the momentswhen she stopped and stood stock-still, and then, readjusting herburden, forced herself forward under it again. 

They sat alone in the family room, out of which their two girls seemedto have died. Lapham could not read his Sunday papers, and she had noheart to go to church, as she would have done earlier in life when introuble. Just then she was obscurely feeling that the church wassomehow to blame for that counsel of Mr. Sewell's on which they hadacted. 

"I should like to know, " she said, having brought the matter up, "whether he would have thought it was such a light matter if it hadbeen his own children. Do you suppose he'd have been so ready to acton his own advice if it HAD been?"

"He told us the right thing to do, Persis, --the only thing. Wecouldn't let it go on, " urged her husband gently. 

"Well, it makes me despise Pen! Irene's showing twice the characterthat she is, this very minute. "

The mother said this so that the father might defend her daughter toher. He did not fail. "Irene's got the easiest part, the way I lookat it. And you'll see that Pen'll know how to behave when the timecomes. "

"What do you want she should do?"

"I haven't got so far as that yet. What are we going to do aboutIrene?"

"What do you want Pen should do, " repeated Mrs. Lapham, "when it comesto it?"

"Well, I don't want she should take him, for ONE thing, " said Lapham. 

This seemed to satisfy Mrs. Lapham as to her husband, and she said indefence of Corey, "Why, I don't see what HE'S done. It's all been ourdoing. "

"Never mind that now. What about Irene?"

"She says she's going to Lapham to-morrow. She feels that she's got toget away somewhere. It's natural she should. "

"Yes, and I presume it will be about the best thing FOR her. Shall yougo with her?"

"Yes. "

"Well. " He comfortlessly took up a newspaper again, and she rose with asigh, and went to her room to pack some things for the morrow's journey. 

After dinner, when Irene had cleared away the last trace of it inkitchen and dining-room with unsparing punctilio, she came downstairs, dressed to go out, and bade her father come to walk with her again. Itwas a repetition of the aimlessness of the last night's wanderings. They came back, and she got tea for them, and after that they heard herstirring about in her own room, as if she were busy about many things;but they did not dare to look in upon her, even after all the noiseshad ceased, and they knew she had gone to bed. 

"Yes; it's a thing she's got to fight out by herself, " said Mrs Lapham. 

"I guess she'll get along, " said Lapham. "But I don't want you shouldmisjudge Pen either. She's all right too. She ain't to blame. "

"Yes, I know. But I can't work round to it all at once. I shan'tmisjudge her, but you can't expect me to get over it right away. "

"Mamma, " said Irene, when she was hurrying their departure the nextmorning, "what did she tell him when he asked her?"

"Tell him?" echoed the mother; and after a while she added, "She didn'ttell him anything. "

"Did she say anything, about me?"

"She said he mustn't come here any more. "

Irene turned and went into her sister's room. "Good-bye, Pen, " shesaid, kissing her with an effect of not seeing or touching her. "Iwant you should tell him all about it. If he's half a man, he won'tgive up till he knows why you won't have him; and he has a right toknow. "

"It wouldn't make any difference. I couldn't have him after----"

"That's for you to say. But if you don't tell him about me, I will. "

"'Rene!" "Yes! You needn't say I cared for him. But you can say thatyou all thought he--cared for--me. "

"O Irene----"

"Don't!" Irene escaped from the arms that tried to cast themselvesabout her. "You are all right, Pen. You haven't done anything. You've helped me all you could. But I can't--yet. "

She went out of the room and summoned Mrs. Lapham with a sharp "Now, mamma!" and went on putting the last things into her trunks. 

The Colonel went to the station with them, and put them on the train. He got them a little compartment to themselves in the Pullman car; andas he stood leaning with his lifted hands against the sides of thedoorway, he tried to say something consoling and hopeful: "I guessyou'll have an easy ride, Irene. I don't believe it'll be dusty, any, after the rain last night. "

"Don't you stay till the train starts, papa, " returned the girl, inrigid rejection of his futilities. "Get off, now. "

"Well, if you want I should, " he said, glad to be able to please her inanything. He remained on the platform till the cars started. He sawIrene bustling about in the compartment, making her mother comfortablefor the journey; but Mrs. Lapham did not lift her head. The trainmoved off, and he went heavily back to his business. 

From time to time during the day, when he caught a glimpse of him, Corey tried to make out from his face whether he knew what had takenplace between him and Penelope. When Rogers came in about time ofclosing, and shut himself up with Lapham in his room, the young manremained till the two came out together and parted in theirsalutationless fashion. 

Lapham showed no surprise at seeing Corey still there, and merelyanswered, "Well!" when the young man said that he wished to speak withhim, and led the way back to his room. 

Corey shut the door behind them. "I only wish to speak to you in caseyou know of the matter already; for otherwise I'm bound by a promise. "

"I guess I know what you mean. It's about Penelope. "

"Yes, it's about Miss Lapham. I am greatly attached to her--you'llexcuse my saying it; I couldn't excuse myself if I were not. "

"Perfectly excusable, " said Lapham. "It's all right. "

"Oh, I'm glad to hear you say that!" cried the young fellow joyfully. "I want you to believe that this isn't a new thing or an unconsideredthing with me--though it seemed so unexpected to her. "

Lapham fetched a deep sigh. "It's all right as far as I'mconcerned--or her mother. We've both liked you first-rate. "

"Yes?"

"But there seems to be something in Penelope's mind--I don't know--"The Colonel consciously dropped his eyes. 

"She referred to something--I couldn't make out what--but I hoped--Ihoped--that with your leave I might overcome it--the barrier--whateverit was. Miss Lapham--Penelope--gave me the hope--that Iwas--wasn't--indifferent to her----"

"Yes, I guess that's so, " said Lapham. He suddenly lifted his head, and confronted the young fellow's honest face with his own face, sodifferent in its honesty. "Sure you never made up to any one else atthe same time?"

"NEVER! Who could imagine such a thing? If that's all, I can easily. "

"I don't say that's all, nor that that's it. I don't want you shouldgo upon that idea. I just thought, may be--you hadn't thought of it. "

"No, I certainly hadn't thought of it! Such a thing would have been soimpossible to me that I couldn't have thought of it; and it's soshocking to me now that I don't know what to say to it. "

"Well, don't take it too much to heart, " said Lapham, alarmed at thefeeling he had excited; "I don't say she thought so. I was trying toguess--trying to----"

"If there is anything I can say or do to convince you----"

"Oh, it ain't necessary to say anything. I'm all right. "

"But Miss Lapham! I may see her again? I may try to convince herthat----"

He stopped in distress, and Lapham afterwards told his wife that hekept seeing the face of Irene as it looked when he parted with her inthe car; and whenever he was going to say yes, he could not open hislips. At the same time he could not help feeling that Penelope had aright to what was her own, and Sewell's words came back to him. Besides, they had already put Irene to the worst suffering. Laphamcompromised, as he imagined. "You can come round to-night and see ME, if you want to, " he said; and he bore grimly the gratitude that theyoung man poured out upon him. 

Penelope came down to supper and took her mother's place at the head ofthe table. 

Lapham sat silent in her presence as long as he could bear it. Then heasked, "How do you feel to-night, Pen?"

"Oh, like a thief, " said the girl. "A thief that hasn't been arrestedyet. "

Lapham waited a while before he said, "Well, now, your mother and Iwant you should hold up on that a while. "

"It isn't for you to say. It's something I can't hold up on. "

"Yes, I guess you can. If I know what's happened, then what's happenedis a thing that nobody is to blame for. And we want you should makethe best of it and not the worst. Heigh? It ain't going to help Ireneany for you to hurt yourself--or anybody else; and I don't want youshould take up with any such crazy notion. As far as heard from, youhaven't stolen anything, and whatever you've got belongs to you. "

"Has he been speaking to you, father?"

"Your mother's been speaking to me. "

"Has HE been speaking to you?"

"That's neither here nor there. "

"Then he's broken his word, and I will never speak to him again!"

"If he was any such fool as to promise that he wouldn't talk to me on asubject"--Lapham drew a deep breath, and then made the plunge--"that Ibrought up----"

"Did you bring it up?"

"The same as brought up--the quicker he broke his word the better; andI want you should act upon that idea. Recollect that it's my business, and your mother's business, as well as yours, and we're going to haveour say. He hain't done anything wrong, Pen, nor anything that he'sgoing to be punished for. Understand that. He's got to have a reason, if you're not going to have him. I don't say you've got to have him; Iwant you should feel perfectly free about that; but I DO say you've gotto give him a reason. "

"Is he coming here?"

"I don't know as you'd call it COMING----"

"Yes, you do, father!" said the girl, in forlorn amusement at hisshuffling. 

"He's coming here to see ME----"

"When's he coming?"

"I don't know but he's coming to-night. "

"And you want I should see him?"

"I don't know but you'd better. "

"All right. I'll see him. "

Lapham drew a long deep breath of suspicion inspired by thisacquiescence. "What you going to do?" he asked presently. 

"I don't know yet, " answered the girl sadly. "It depends a good dealupon what he does. "

"Well, " said Lapham, with the hungriness of unsatisfied anxiety in histone. When Corey's card was brought into the family-room where he andPenelope were sitting, he went into the parlour to find him. "I guessPenelope wants to see you, " he said; and, indicating the family-room, he added, "She's in there, " and did not go back himself. 

Corey made his way to the girl's presence with open trepidation, whichwas not allayed by her silence and languor. She sat in the chair whereshe had sat the other night, but she was not playing with a fan now. 

He came toward her, and then stood faltering. A faint smile quiveredover her face at the spectacle of his subjection. "Sit down, Mr. Corey, " she said. "There's no reason why we shouldn't talk it overquietly; for I know you will think I'm right. "

"I'm sure of that, " he answered hopefully. "When I saw that yourfather knew of it to-day, I asked him to let me see you again. I'mafraid that I broke my promise to you--technically----"

"It had to be broken. " He took more courage at her words. "But I'veonly come to do whatever you say, and not to be an--annoyance toyou----"

"Yes, you have to know; but I couldn't tell you before. Now they allthink I should. "

A tremor of anxiety passed over the young man's face, on which she kepther eyes steadily fixed. 

"We supposed it--it was--Irene----"

He remained blank a moment, and then he said with a smile of relief, ofdeprecation, of protest, of amazement, of compassion--

"OH! Never! Never for an instant! How could you think such a thing? Itwas impossible! I never thought of her. But I see--I see! I canexplain--no, there's nothing to explain! I have never knowingly done orsaid a thing from first to last to make you think that. I see howterrible it is!" he said; but he still smiled, as if he could not takeit seriously. "I admired her beauty--who could help doing that?--and Ithought her very good and sensible. Why, last winter in Texas, I toldStanton about our meeting in Canada, and we agreed--I only tell you toshow you how far I always was from what you thought--that he must comeNorth and try to see her, and--and--of course, it all sounds verysilly!--and he sent her a newspaper with an account of his ranch init----"

"She thought it came from you. "

"Oh, good heavens! He didn't tell me till after he'd done it. But hedid it for a part of our foolish joke. And when I met your sisteragain, I only admired her as before. I can see, now, how I must haveseemed to be seeking her out; but it was to talk of you with her--Inever talked of anything else if I could help it, except when I changedthe subject because I was ashamed to be always talking of you. I seehow distressing it is for all of you. But tell me that you believe me!"

"Yes, I must. It's all been our mistake----"

"It has indeed! But there's no mistake about my loving you, Penelope, "he said; and the old-fashioned name, at which she had often mocked, wassweet to her from his lips. 

"That only makes it worse!" she answered. 

"Oh no!" he gently protested. "It makes it better. It makes it right. How is it worse? How is it wrong?"

"Can't you see? You must understand all now! Don't you see that if shebelieved so too, and if she----" She could not go on. 

"Did she--did your sister--think that too?" gasped Corey. 

"She used to talk with me about you; and when you say you care for menow, it makes me feel like the vilest hypocrite in the world. That dayyou gave her the list of books, and she came down to Nantasket, andwent on about you, I helped her to flatter herself--oh! I don't see howshe can forgive me. But she knows I can never forgive myself! That'sthe reason she can do it. I can see now, " she went on, "how I musthave been trying to get you from her. I can't endure it! The only wayis for me never to see you or speak to you again!" She laughedforlornly. "That would be pretty hard on you, if you cared. "

"I do care--all the world!"

"Well, then, it would if you were going to keep on caring. You won'tlong, if you stop coming now. "

"Is this all, then? Is it the end?"

"It's--whatever it is. I can't get over the thought of her. Once Ithought I could, but now I see that I can't. It seems to grow worse. Sometimes I feel as if it would drive me crazy. "

He sat looking at her with lacklustre eyes. The light suddenly cameback into them. "Do you think I could love you if you had been falseto her? I know you have been true to her, and truer still to yourself. I never tried to see her, except with the hope of seeing you too. Isupposed she must know that I was in love with you. From the firsttime I saw you there that afternoon, you filled my fancy. Do you thinkI was flirting with the child, or--no, you don't think that! We havenot done wrong. We have not harmed any one knowingly. We have a rightto each other----"

"No! no! you must never speak to me of this again. If you do, I shallknow that you despise me. "

"But how will that help her? I don't love HER. "

"Don't say that to me! I have said that to myself too much. "

"If you forbid me to love you, it won't make me love her, " he persisted. 

She was about to speak, but she caught her breath without doing so, andmerely stared at him. "I must do what you say, " he continued. "Butwhat good will it do her? You can't make her happy by making yourselfunhappy. "

"Do you ask me to profit by a wrong?"

"Not for the world. But there is no wrong!"

"There is something--I don't know what. There's a wall between us. Ishall dash myself against it as long as I live; but that won't breakit. "

"Oh!" he groaned. "We have done no wrong. Why should we suffer fromanother's mistake as if it were our sin?"

"I don't know. But we must suffer. "

"Well, then, I WILL not, for my part, and I will not let you. If youcare for me----"

"You had no right to know it. "

"You make it my privilege to keep you from doing wrong for the right'ssake. I'm sorry, with all my heart and soul, for this error; but Ican't blame myself, and I won't deny myself the happiness I haven'tdone anything to forfeit. I will never give you up. I will wait aslong as you please for the time when you shall feel free from thismistake; but you shall be mine at last. Remember that. I might goaway for months--a year, even; but that seems a cowardly and guiltything, and I'm not afraid, and I'm not guilty, and I'm going to stayhere and try to see you. "

She shook her head. "It won't change anything? Don't you see thatthere's no hope for us?"

"When is she coming back?" he asked. 

"I don't know. Mother wants father to come and take her out West for awhile. "

"She's up there in the country with your mother yet?"

"Yes. "

He was silent; then he said desperately--

"Penelope, she is very young; and perhaps--perhaps she might meet----"

"It would make no difference. It wouldn't change it for me. "

"You are cruel--cruel to yourself, if you love me, and cruel to me. Don't you remember that night--before I spoke--you were talking of thatbook; and you said it was foolish and wicked to do as that girl did. Why is it different with you, except that you give me nothing, and cannever give me anything when you take yourself away? If it were anybodyelse, I am sure you would say----"

"But it isn't anybody else, and that makes it impossible. Sometimes Ithink it might be if I would only say so to myself, and then all that Isaid to her about you comes up----"

"I will wait. It can't always come up. I won't urge you any longernow. But you will see it differently--more clearly. Good-bye--no!Good night! I shall come again to-morrow. It will surely come right, and, whatever happens, you have done no wrong. Try to keep that inmind. I am so happy, in spite of all!"

He tried to take her hand, but she put it behind her. "No, no! I can'tlet you--yet!"

XX. 

AFTER a week Mrs. Lapham returned, leaving Irene alone at the oldhomestead in Vermont. "She's comfortable there--as comfortable as shecan be anywheres, I guess, " she said to her husband as they drovetogether from the station, where he had met her in obedience to hertelegraphic summons. "She keeps herself busy helping about the house;and she goes round amongst the hands in their houses. There'ssickness, and you know how helpful she is where there's sickness. Shedon't complain any. I don't know as I've heard a word out of her mouthsince we left home; but I'm afraid it'll wear on her, Silas. "

"You don't look over and above well yourself, Persis, " said her husbandkindly. 

"Oh, don't talk about me. What I want to know is whether you can't getthe time to run off with her somewhere. I wrote to you about Dubuque. She'll work herself down, I'm afraid; and THEN I don't know as she'llbe over it. But if she could go off, and be amused--see new people----"

"I could MAKE the time, " said Lapham, "if I had to. But, as ithappens, I've got to go out West on business, --I'll tell you aboutit, --and I'll take Irene along. "

"Good!" said his wife. "That's about the best thing I've heard yet. Where you going?"

"Out Dubuque way. "

"Anything the matter with Bill's folks?"

"No. It's business. "

"How's Pen?"

"I guess she ain't much better than Irene. "

"He been about any?"

"Yes. But I can't see as it helps matters much. "

"Tchk!" Mrs. Lapham fell back against the carriage cushions. "Ideclare, to see her willing to take the man that we all thought wantedher sister! I can't make it seem right. "

"It's right, " said Lapham stoutly; "but I guess she ain't willing; Iwish she was. But there don't seem to be any way out of the thing, anywhere. It's a perfect snarl. But I don't want you should beanyways ha'sh with Pen. "

Mrs. Lapham answered nothing; but when she met Penelope she gave thegirl's wan face a sharp look, and began to whimper on her neck. 

Penelope's tears were all spent. "Well, mother, " she said, "you comeback almost as cheerful as you went away. I needn't ask if 'Rene's ingood spirits. We all seem to be overflowing with them. I suppose thisis one way of congratulating me. Mrs. Corey hasn't been round to do ityet. "

"Are you--are you engaged to him, Pen?" gasped her mother. 

"Judging by my feelings, I should say not. I feel as if it was a lastwill and testament. But you'd better ask him when he comes. "

"I can't bear to look at him. "

"I guess he's used to that. He don't seem to expect to be looked at. Well! we're all just where we started. I wonder how long it will keepup. "

Mrs. Lapham reported to her husband when he came home at night--he hadleft his business to go and meet her, and then, after a desolate dinnerat the house, had returned to the office again--that Penelope was fullyas bad as Irene. "And she don't know how to work it off. Irene keepsdoing; but Pen just sits in her room and mopes. She don't even read. I went up this afternoon to scold her about the state the house wasin--you can see that Irene's away by the perfect mess; but when I sawher through the crack of the door I hadn't the heart. She sat therewith her hands in her lap, just staring. And, my goodness! she JUMPEDso when she saw me; and then she fell back, and began to laugh, andsaid she, 'I thought it was my ghost, mother!' I felt as if I shouldgive way. "

Lapham listened jadedly, and answered far from the point. "I guessI've got to start out there pretty soon, Persis. "

"How soon?"

"Well, to-morrow morning. "

Mrs. Lapham sat silent. Then, "All right, " she said. "I'll get youready. "

"I shall run up to Lapham for Irene, and then I'll push on throughCanada. I can get there about as quick. "

"Is it anything you can tell me about, Silas?"

"Yes, " said Lapham. "But it's a long story, and I guess you've gotyour hands pretty full as it is. I've been throwing good money afterbad, --the usual way, --and now I've got to see if I can save thepieces. "

After a moment Mrs. Lapham asked, "Is it--Rogers?"

"It's Rogers. "

"I didn't want you should get in any deeper with him. "

"No. You didn't want I should press him either; and I had to do one orthe other. And so I got in deeper. "

"Silas, " said his wife, "I'm afraid I made you!"

"It's all right, Persis, as far forth as that goes. I was glad to makeit up with him--I jumped at the chance. I guess Rogers saw that he hada soft thing in me, and he's worked it for all it was worth. But it'llall come out right in the end. "

Lapham said this as if he did not care to talk any more about it. Headded casually, "Pretty near everybody but the fellows that owe ME seemto expect me to do a cash business, all of a sudden. "

"Do you mean that you've got payments to make, and that people are notpaying YOU?"

Lapham winced a little. "Something like that, " he said, and he lighteda cigar. "But when I tell you it's all right, I mean it, Persis. Iain't going to let the grass grow under my feet, though, --especiallywhile Rogers digs the ground away from the roots. "

"What are you going to do?"

"If it has to come to that, I'm going to squeeze him. " Lapham'scountenance lighted up with greater joy than had yet visited it sincethe day they had driven out to Brookline. "Milton K. Rogers is arascal, if you want to know; or else all the signs fail. But I guesshe'll find he's got his come-uppance. " Lapham shut his lips so that theshort, reddish-grey beard stuck straight out on them. 

"What's he done?"

"What's he done? Well, now, I'll tell you what he's done, Persis, sinceyou think Rogers is such a saint, and that I used him so badly ingetting him out of the business. He's been dabbling in every sort offool thing you can lay your tongue to, --wild-cat stocks, patent-rights, land speculations, oil claims, --till he's run through about everything. But he did have a big milling property out on the line of the P. Y. &X. , --saw-mills and grist-mills and lands, --and for the last eight yearshe's been doing a land-office business with 'em--business that wouldhave made anybody else rich. But you can't make Milton K. Rogers rich, any more than you can fat a hide-bound colt. It ain't in him. He'drun through Vanderbilt, Jay Gould, and Tom Scott rolled into one inless than six months, give him a chance, and come out and want toborrow money of you. Well, he won't borrow any more money of ME; andif he thinks I don't know as much about that milling property as hedoes he's mistaken. I've taken his mills, but I guess I've got theinside track; Bill's kept me posted; and now I'm going out there to seehow I can unload; and I shan't mind a great deal if Rogers is under theload when it's off once. "

"I don't understand you, Silas. "

"Why, it's just this. The Great Lacustrine & Polar Railroad has leasedthe P. Y. & X. For ninety-nine years, --bought it, practically, --andit's going to build car-works right by those mills, and it may wantthem. And Milton K. Rogers knew it when he turned 'em in on me. "

"Well, if the road wants them, don't that make the mills valuable? Youcan get what you ask for them!"

"Can I? The P. Y. & X. Is the only road that runs within fifty miles ofthe mills, and you can't get a foot of lumber nor a pound of flour tomarket any other way. As long as he had a little local road like theP. Y. & X. To deal with, Rogers could manage; but when it come to a bigthrough line like the G. L. & P. , he couldn't stand any chance at all. If such a road as that took a fancy to his mills, do you think it wouldpay what he asked? No, sir! He would take what the road offered, orelse the road would tell him to carry his flour and lumber to markethimself. "

"And do you suppose he knew the G. L. & P. Wanted the mills when heturned them in on you?" asked Mrs. Lapham aghast, and fallinghelplessly into his alphabetical parlance. 

The Colonel laughed scoffingly. "Well, when Milton K. Rogers don'tknow which side his bread's buttered on! I don't understand, " he addedthoughtfully, "how he's always letting it fall on the buttered side. But such a man as that is sure to have a screw loose in him somewhere. "Mrs. Lapham sat discomfited. All that she could say was, "Well, I wantyou should ask yourself whether Rogers would ever have gone wrong, orgot into these ways of his, if it hadn't been for your forcing him outof the business when you did. I want you should think whether you'renot responsible for everything he's done since. "

"You go and get that bag of mine ready, " said Lapham sullenly. "Iguess I can take care of myself. And Milton K. Rogers too, " he added. 

That evening Corey spent the time after dinner in his own room, withrestless excursions to the library, where his mother sat with hisfather and sisters, and showed no signs of leaving them. At last, incoming down, he encountered her on the stairs, going up. They bothstopped consciously. 

"I would like to speak with you, mother. I have been waiting to seeyou alone. "

"Come to my room, " she said. 

"I have a feeling that you know what I want to say, " he began there. 

She looked up at him where he stood by the chimney-piece, and tried toput a cheerful note into her questioning "Yes?"

"Yes; and I have a feeling that you won't like it--that you won'tapprove of it. I wish you did--I wish you could!"

"I'm used to liking and approving everything you do, Tom. If I don'tlike this at once, I shall try to like it--you know that--for yoursake, whatever it is. "

"I'd better be short, " he said, with a quick sigh. "It's about MissLapham. " He hastened to add, "I hope it isn't surprising to you. I'dhave told you before, if I could. "

"No, it isn't surprising. I was afraid--I suspected something of thekind. "

They were both silent in a painful silence. 

"Well, mother?" he asked at last. 

"If it's something you've quite made up mind to----"

"It is!"

"And if you've already spoken to her----"

"I had to do that first, of course. "

"There would be no use of my saying anything, even if I disliked it. "

"You do dislike it!"

"No--no! I can't say that. Of course I should have preferred it if youhad chosen some nice girl among those that you had been brought upwith--some friend or associate of your sisters, whose people we hadknown----"

"Yes, I understand that, and I can assure you that I haven't beenindifferent to your feelings. I have tried to consider them from thefirst, and it kept me hesitating in a way that I'm ashamed to think of;for it wasn't quite right towards--others. But your feelings and mysisters' have been in my mind, and if I couldn't yield to what Isupposed they must be, entirely----"

Even so good a son and brother as this, when it came to his loveaffair, appeared to think that he had yielded much in considering thefeelings of his family at all. 

His mother hastened to comfort him. "I know--I know. I've seen forsome time that this might happen, Tom, and I have prepared myself forit. I have talked it over with your father, and we both agreed fromthe beginning that you were not to be hampered by our feeling. Still--it is a surprise. It must be. "

"I know it. I can understand your feeling. But I'm sure that it's onethat will last only while you don't know her well. "

"Oh, I'm sure of that, Tom. I'm sure that we shall all be fond ofher, --for your sake at first, even--and I hope she'll like us. "

"I am quite certain of that, " said Corey, with that confidence whichexperience does not always confirm in such cases. "And your taking itas you do lifts a tremendous load off me. "

But he sighed so heavily, and looked so troubled, that his mother said, "Well, now, you mustn't think of that any more. We wish what is foryour happiness, my son, and we will gladly reconcile ourselves toanything that might have been disagreeable. I suppose we needn't speakof the family. We must both think alike about them. They havetheir--drawbacks, but they are thoroughly good people, and I satisfiedmyself the other night that they were not to be dreaded. " She rose, andput her arm round his neck. "And I wish you joy, Tom! If she's half asgood as you are, you will both be very happy. " She was going to kisshim, but something in his looks stopped her--an absence, a trouble, which broke out in his words. 

"I must tell you, mother! There's been a complication--amistake--that's a blight on me yet, and that it sometimes seems as ifwe couldn't escape from. I wonder if you can help us! They all thoughtI meant--the other sister. "

"O Tom! But how COULD they?"

"I don't know. It seemed so glaringly plain--I was ashamed of makingit so outright from the beginning. But they did. Even she did, herself!"

"But where could they have thought your eyes were--your taste? Itwouldn't be surprising if any one were taken with that wonderfulbeauty; and I'm sure she's good too. But I'm astonished at them! Tothink you could prefer that little, black, odd creature, with herjoking and----"

"MOTHER!" cried the young man, turning a ghastly face of warning uponher. 

"What do you mean, Tom?"

"Did you--did--did you think so too--that it was IRENE I meant?"

"Why, of course!"

He stared at her hopelessly. 

"O my son!" she said, for all comment on the situation. 

"Don't reproach me, mother! I couldn't stand it. "

"No. I didn't mean to do that. But how--HOW could it happen?"

"I don't know. When she first told me that they had understood it so, I laughed--almost--it was so far from me. But now when you seem tohave had the same idea--Did you all think so?"

"Yes. "

They remained looking at each other. Then Mrs. Corey began: "It didpass through my mind once--that day I went to call upon them--that itmight not be as we thought; but I knew so little of--of----"

"Penelope, " Corey mechanically supplied. 

"Is that her name?--I forgot--that I only thought of you in relation toher long enough to reject the idea; and it was natural after our seeingsomething of the other one last year, that I might suppose you hadformed some--attachment----"

"Yes; that's what they thought too. But I never thought of her asanything but a pretty child. I was civil to her because you wished it;and when I met her here again, I only tried to see her so that I couldtalk with her about her sister. "

"You needn't defend yourself to ME, Tom, " said his mother, proud to sayit to him in his trouble. "It's a terrible business for them, poorthings, " she added. "I don't know how they could get over it. But, ofcourse, sensible people must see----"

"They haven't got over it. At least she hasn't. Since it's happened, there's been nothing that hasn't made me prouder and fonder of her! Atfirst I WAS charmed with her--my fancy was taken; she delighted me--Idon't know how; but she was simply the most fascinating person I eversaw. Now I never think of that. I only think how good she is--howpatient she is with me, and how unsparing she is of herself. If shewere concerned alone--if I were not concerned too--it would soon end. She's never had a thought for anything but her sister's feeling andmine from the beginning. I go there, --I know that I oughtn't, but Ican't help it, --and she suffers it, and tries not to let me see thatshe is suffering it. There never was any one like her--so brave, sotrue, so noble. I won't give her up--I can't. But it breaks my heartwhen she accuses herself of what was all MY doing. We spend our timetrying to reason out of it, but we always come back to it at last, andI have to hear her morbidly blaming herself. Oh!"

Doubtless Mrs. Corey imagined some reliefs to this suffering, somequalifications of this sublimity in a girl she had disliked sodistinctly; but she saw none in her son's behaviour, and she gave himher further sympathy. She tried to praise Penelope, and said that itwas not to be expected that she could reconcile herself at once toeverything. "I shouldn't have liked it in her if she had. But timewill bring it all right. And if she really cares for you----"

"I extorted that from her. "

"Well, then, you must look at it in the best light you can. There isno blame anywhere, and the mortification and pain is something thatmust be lived down. That's all. And don't let what I said grieve you, Tom. You know I scarcely knew her, and I--I shall be sure to like anyone you like, after all. "

"Yes, I know, " said the young man drearily. "Will you tell father?"

"If you wish. "

"He must know. And I couldn't stand any more of this, just yet--anymore mistake. "

"I will tell him, " said Mrs. Corey; and it was naturally the next thingfor a woman who dwelt so much on decencies to propose: "We must go tocall on her--your sisters and I. They have never seen her even; andshe mustn't be allowed to think we're indifferent to her, especiallyunder the circumstances. "

"Oh no! Don't go--not yet, " cried Corey, with an instinctive perceptionthat nothing could be worse for him. "We must wait--we must bepatient. I'm afraid it would be painful to her now. "

He turned away without speaking further; and his mother's eyes followedhim wistfully to the door. There were some questions that she wouldhave liked to ask him; but she had to content herself with trying toanswer them when her husband put them to her. 

There was this comfort for her always in Bromfield Corey, that he neverwas much surprised at anything, however shocking or painful. Hisstandpoint in regard to most matters was that of the sympathetichumorist who would be glad to have the victim of circumstance laughwith him, but was not too much vexed when the victim could not. Helaughed now when his wife, with careful preparation, got the facts ofhis son's predicament fully under his eye. 

"Really, Bromfield, " she said, "I don't see how you can laugh. Do yousee any way out of it?"

"It seems to me that the way has been found already. Tom has told hislove to the right one, and the wrong one knows it. Time will do therest. "

"If I had so low an opinion of them all as that, it would make me veryunhappy. It's shocking to think of it. "

"It is upon the theory of ladies and all young people, " said herhusband, with a shrug, feeling his way to the matches on the mantel, and then dropping them with a sign, as if recollecting that he must notsmoke there. "I've no doubt Tom feels himself an awful sinner. Butapparently he's resigned to his sin; he isn't going to give her up. "

"I'm glad to say, for the sake of human nature, that SHE isn'tresigned--little as I like her, " cried Mrs. Corey. 

Her husband shrugged again. "Oh, there mustn't be any indecent haste. She will instinctively observe the proprieties. But come, now, Anna!you mustn't pretend to me here, in the sanctuary of home, thatpractically the human affections don't reconcile themselves to anysituation that the human sentiments condemn. Suppose the wrong sisterhad died: would the right one have had any scruple in marrying Tom, after they had both 'waited a proper time, ' as the phrase is?"

"Bromfield, you're shocking!"

"Not more shocking than reality. You may regard this as a secondmarriage. " He looked at her with twinkling eyes, full of the triumphthe spectator of his species feels in signal exhibitions of humannature. "Depend upon it, the right sister will be reconciled; thewrong one will be consoled; and all will go merry as a marriage bell--asecond marriage bell. Why, it's quite like a romance!" Here he laughedoutright again. 

"Well, " sighed the wife, "I could almost wish the right one, as youcall her, would reject Tom, I dislike her so much. "

"Ah, now you're talking business, Anna, " said her husband, with hishands spread behind the back he turned comfortably to the fire. "Thewhole Lapham tribe is distasteful to me. As I don't happen to haveseen our daughter-in-law elect, I have still the hope--which you'redisposed to forbid me--that she may not be quite so unacceptable as theothers. "

"Do you really feel so, Bromfield?" anxiously inquired his wife. 

"Yes--I think I do;" and he sat down, and stretched out his long legstoward the fire. 

"But it's very inconsistent of you to oppose the matter now, whenyou've shown so much indifference up to this time. You've told me, allalong, that it was of no use to oppose it. "

"So I have. I was convinced of that at the beginning, or my reasonwas. You know very well that I am equal to any trial, any sacrifice, day after to-morrow; but when it comes to-day it's another thing. Aslong as this crisis decently kept its distance, I could look at it withan impartial eye; but now that it seems at hand, I find that, while myreason is still acquiescent, my nerves are disposed to--excuse thephrase--kick. I ask myself, what have I done nothing for, all my life, and lived as a gentleman should, upon the earnings of somebody else, inthe possession of every polite taste and feeling that adorns leisure, if I'm to come to this at last? And I find no satisfactory answer. Isay to myself that I might as well have yielded to the pressure allround me, and gone to work, as Tom has. "

Mrs. Corey looked at him forlornly, divining the core of realrepugnance that existed in his self-satire. 

"I assure you, my dear, " he continued, "that the recollection of what Isuffered from the Laphams at that dinner of yours is an anguish still. It wasn't their behaviour, --they behaved well enough--or ill enough;but their conversation was terrible. Mrs. Lapham's range was strictlydomestic; and when the Colonel got me in the library, he poured mineralpaint all over me, till I could have been safely warranted not to crackor scale in any climate. I suppose we shall have to see a good deal ofthem. They will probably come here every Sunday night to tea. It's aperspective without a vanishing-point. "

"It may not be so bad, after all, " said his wife; and she suggested forhis consolation that he knew very little about the Laphams yet. 

He assented to the fact. "I know very little about them, and about myother fellow-beings. I dare say that I should like the Laphams betterif I knew them better. But in any case, I resign myself. And we mustkeep in view the fact that this is mainly Tom's affair, and if hisaffections have regulated it to his satisfaction, we must be content. "

"Oh yes, " sighed Mrs. Corey. "And perhaps it won't turn out so badly. It's a great comfort to know that you feel just as I do about it. "

"I do, " said her husband, "and more too. "

It was she and her daughters who would be chiefly annoyed by the Laphamconnection; she knew that. But she had to begin to bear the burden byhelping her husband to bear his light share of it. To see him sodepressed dismayed her, and she might well have reproached him moresharply than she did for showing so much indifference, when she was soanxious, at first. But that would not have served any good end now. She even answered him patiently when he asked her, "What did you say toTom when he told you it was the other one?"

"What could I say? I could do nothing, but try to take back what I hadsaid against her. "

"Yes, you had quite enough to do, I suppose. It's an awkward business. If it had been the pretty one, her beauty would have been our excuse. But the plain one--what do you suppose attracted him in her?"

Mrs. Corey sighed at the futility of the question. "Perhaps I did herinjustice. I only saw her a few moments. Perhaps I got a falseimpression. I don't think she's lacking in sense, and that's a greatthing. She'll be quick to see that we don't mean unkindness, andcan't, by anything we say or do, when she's Tom's wife. " She pronouncedthe distasteful word with courage, and went on: "The pretty one mightnot have been able to see that. She might have got it into her headthat we were looking down on her; and those insipid people are terriblystubborn. We can come to some understanding with this one; I'm sure ofthat. " She ended by declaring that it was now their duty to help Tomout of his terrible predicament. 

"Oh, even the Lapham cloud has a silver lining, " said Corey. "In fact, it seems really to have all turned out for the best, Anna; though it'srather curious to find you the champion of the Lapham side, at last. Confess, now, that the right girl has secretly been your choice allalong, and that while you sympathise with the wrong one, you rejoice inthe tenacity with which the right one is clinging to her own!" He addedwith final seriousness, "It's just that she should, and, so far as Iunderstand the case, I respect her for it. "

"Oh yes, " sighed Mrs. Corey. "It's natural, and it's right. " But sheadded, "I suppose they're glad of him on any terms. "

"That is what I have been taught to believe, " said her husband. "Whenshall we see our daughter-in-law elect? I find myself rather impatientto have that part of it over. "

Mrs. Corey hesitated. "Tom thinks we had better not call, just yet. "

"She has told him of your terrible behaviour when you called before?"

"No, Bromfield! She couldn't be so vulgar as that?"

"But anything short of it?"

XXI. 

LAPHAM was gone a fortnight. He was in a sullen humour when he cameback, and kept himself shut close within his own den at the office thefirst day. He entered it in the morning without a word to his clerksas he passed through the outer room, and he made no sign throughout theforenoon, except to strike savagely on his desk-bell from time to time, and send out to Walker for some book of accounts or a letter-file. Hisboy confidentially reported to Walker that the old man seemed to havegot a lot of papers round; and at lunch the book-keeper said to Corey, at the little table which they had taken in a corner together, indefault of seats at the counter, "Well, sir, I guess there's a coldwave coming. "

Corey looked up innocently, and said, "I haven't read the weatherreport. "

"Yes, sir, " Walker continued, "it's coming. Areas of rain along thewhole coast, and increased pressure in the region of the privateoffice. Storm-signals up at the old man's door now. "

Corey perceived that he was speaking figuratively, and that hismeteorology was entirely personal to Lapham. "What do you mean?" heasked, without vivid interest in the allegory, his mind being full ofhis own tragi-comedy. 

"Why, just this: I guess the old man's takin' in sail. And I guesshe's got to. As I told you the first time we talked about him, theredon't any one know one-quarter as much about the old man's business asthe old man does himself; and I ain't betraying any confidence when Isay that I guess that old partner of his has got pretty deep into hisbooks. I guess he's over head and ears in 'em, and the old man's gonein after him, and he's got a drownin' man's grip round his neck. Thereseems to be a kind of a lull--kind of a dead calm, I call it--in thepaint market just now; and then again a ten-hundred-thousand-dollar mandon't build a hundred-thousand-dollar house without feeling the drain, unless there's a regular boom. And just now there ain't any boom atall. Oh, I don't say but what the old man's got anchors to windward;guess he HAS; but if he's GOIN' to leave me his money, I wish he'd leftit six weeks ago. Yes, sir, I guess there's a cold wave comin'; butyou can't generally 'most always tell, as a usual thing, where the oldman's concerned, and it's ONLY a guess. " Walker began to feed in hisbreaded chop with the same nervous excitement with which he abandonedhimself to the slangy and figurative excesses of his talks. Corey hadlistened with a miserable curiosity and compassion up to a certainmoment, when a broad light of hope flashed upon him. It came fromLapham's potential ruin; and the way out of the labyrinth that hadhitherto seemed so hopeless was clear enough, if another's disasterwould befriend him, and give him the opportunity to prove theunselfishness of his constancy. He thought of the sum of money thatwas his own, and that he might offer to lend, or practically give, ifthe time came; and with his crude hopes and purposes formlesslyexulting in his heart, he kept on listening with an unchangedcountenance. 

Walker could not rest till he had developed the whole situation, so faras he knew it. "Look at the stock we've got on hand. There's going tobe an awful shrinkage on that, now! And when everybody is shuttingdown, or running half-time, the works up at Lapham are going full chip, just the same as ever. Well, it's his pride. I don't say but whatit's a good sort of pride, but he likes to make his brags that thefire's never been out in the works since they started, and that noman's work or wages has ever been cut down yet at Lapham, it don'tmatter WHAT the times are. Of course, " explained Walker, "I shouldn'ttalk so to everybody; don't know as I should talk so to anybody butyou, Mr. Corey. "

"Of course, " assented Corey. 

"Little off your feed to-day, " said Walker, glancing at Corey's plate. 

"I got up with a headache. "

"Well, sir, if you're like me you'll carry it round all day, then. Idon't know a much meaner thing than a headache--unless it's earache, ortoothache, or some other kind of ache I'm pretty hard to suit, when itcomes to diseases. Notice how yellow the old man looked when he camein this morning? I don't like to see a man of his build lookyellow--much. " About the middle of the afternoon the dust-coloured faceof Rogers, now familiar to Lapham's clerks, showed itself among them. "Has Colonel Lapham returned yet?" he asked, in his dry, wooden tones, of Lapham's boy. 

"Yes, he's in his office, " said the boy; and as Rogers advanced, herose and added, "I don't know as you can see him to-day. His orders arenot to let anybody in. "

"Oh, indeed!" said Rogers; "I think he will see ME!" and he pressedforward. 

"Well, I'll have to ask, " returned the boy; and hastily precedingRogers, he put his head in at Lapham's door, and then withdrew it. "Please to sit down, " he said; "he'll see you pretty soon;" and, withan air of some surprise, Rogers obeyed. His sere, dull-brown whiskersand the moustache closing over both lips were incongruously andillogically clerical in effect, and the effect was heightened for noreason by the parchment texture of his skin; the baldness extending tothe crown of his head was like a baldness made up for the stage. Whathis face expressed chiefly was a bland and beneficent caution. Here, you must have said to yourself, is a man of just, sober, and prudentviews, fixed purposes, and the good citizenship that avoids debt andhazard of every kind. 

"What do you want?" asked Lapham, wheeling round in his swivel-chair asRogers entered his room, and pushing the door shut with his foot, without rising. 

Rogers took the chair that was not offered him, and sat with hishat-brim on his knees, and its crown pointed towards Lapham. "I wantto know what you are going to do, " he answered with sufficientself-possession. 

"I'll tell you, first, what I've done, " said Lapham. "I've been toDubuque, and I've found out all about that milling property you turnedin on me. Did you know that the G. L. & P. Had leased the P. Y. & X. ?"

"I some suspected that it might. "

"Did you know it when you turned the property in on me? Did you knowthat the G. L. & P. Wanted to buy the mills?"

"I presumed the road would give a fair price for them, " said Rogers, winking his eyes in outward expression of inwardly blinking the point. 

"You lie, " said Lapham, as quietly as if correcting him in a slighterror; and Rogers took the word with equal sang froid. "You knew theroad wouldn't give a fair price for the mills. You knew it would givewhat it chose, and that I couldn't help myself, when you let me takethem. You're a thief, Milton K. Rogers, and you stole money I lentyou. " Rogers sat listening, as if respectfully considering thestatements. "You knew how I felt about that old matter--or my wifedid; and that I wanted to make it up to you, if you felt anyway badlyused. And you took advantage of it. You've got money out of me, inthe first place, on securities that wa'n't worth thirty-five cents onthe dollar, and you've let me in for this thing, and that thing, andyou've bled me every time. And all I've got to show for it is amilling property on a line of road that can squeeze me, whenever itwants to, as dry as it pleases. And you want to know what I'm going todo? I'm going to squeeze YOU. I'm going to sell these collaterals ofyours, "--he touched a bundle of papers among others that littered hisdesk, --"and I'm going to let the mills go for what they'll fetch. Iain't going to fight the G. L. & P. "

Lapham wheeled about in his chair and turned his burly back on hisvisitor, who sat wholly unmoved. 

"There are some parties, " he began, with a dry tranquillity ignoringLapham's words, as if they had been an outburst against some thirdperson, who probably merited them, but in whom he was so littleinterested that he had been obliged to use patience in listening to hiscondemnation, --"there are some English parties who have been makinginquiries in regard to those mills. "

"I guess you're lying, Rogers, " said Lapham, without looking round. 

"Well, all that I have to ask is that you will not act hastily. "

"I see you don't think I'm in earnest!" cried Lapham, facing fiercelyabout. "You think I'm fooling, do you?" He struck his bell, and"William, " he ordered the boy who answered it, and who stood waitingwhile he dashed off a note to the brokers and enclosed it with thebundle of securities in a large envelope, "take these down to Gallop &Paddock's, in State Street, right away. Now go!" he said to Rogers, when the boy had closed the door after him; and he turned once more tohis desk. 

Rogers rose from his chair, and stood with his hat in his hand. He wasnot merely dispassionate in his attitude and expression, he wasimpartial. He wore the air of a man who was ready to return tobusiness whenever the wayward mood of his interlocutor permitted. "Then I understand, " he said, "that you will take no action in regardto the mills till I have seen the parties I speak of. "

Lapham faced about once more, and sat looking up into the visage ofRogers in silence. "I wonder what you're up to, " he said at last; "Ishould like to know. " But as Rogers made no sign of gratifying hiscuriosity, and treated this last remark of Lapham's as of theirrelevance of all the rest, he said, frowning, "You bring me a partythat will give me enough for those mills to clear me of you, and I'lltalk to you. But don't you come here with any man of straw. And I'llgive you just twenty-four hours to prove yourself a swindler again. "

Once more Lapham turned his back, and Rogers, after lookingthoughtfully into his hat a moment, cleared his throat, and quietlywithdrew, maintaining to the last his unprejudiced demeanour. 

Lapham was not again heard from, as Walker phrased it, during theafternoon, except when the last mail was taken in to him; then thesound of rending envelopes, mixed with that of what seemed suppressedswearing, penetrated to the outer office. Somewhat earlier than theusual hour for closing, he appeared there with his hat on and hisovercoat buttoned about him. He said briefly to his boy, "William, Ishan't be back again this afternoon, " and then went to Miss Dewey andleft a number of letters on her table to be copied, and went out. Nothing had been said, but a sense of trouble subtly diffused itselfthrough those who saw him go out. 

That evening as he sat down with his wife alone at tea, he asked, "Ain't Pen coming to supper?"

"No, she ain't, " said his wife. "I don't know as I like the way she'sgoing on, any too well. I'm afraid, if she keeps on, she'll be downsick. She's got deeper feelings than Irene. "

Lapham said nothing, but having helped himself to the abundance of histable in his usual fashion, he sat and looked at his plate with anindifference that did not escape the notice of his wife. "What's thematter with YOU?" she asked. 

"Nothing. I haven't got any appetite. "

"What's the matter?" she persisted. 

"Trouble's the matter; bad luck and lots of it's the matter, " saidLapham. "I haven't ever hid anything from you, Persis, well you askedme, and it's too late to begin now. I'm in a fix. I'll tell you whatkind of a fix, if you think it'll do you any good; but I guess you'llbe satisfied to know that it's a fix. "

"How much of a one?" she asked with a look of grave, steady courage inher eyes. 

"Well, I don't know as I can tell, just yet, " said Lapham, avoidingthis look. "Things have been dull all the fall, but I thought they'dbrisk up come winter. They haven't. There have been a lot offailures, and some of 'em owed me, and some of 'em had me on theirpaper; and----" Lapham stopped. 

"And what?" prompted his wife. 

He hesitated before he added, "And then--Rogers. "

"I'm to blame for that, " said Mrs. Lapham. "I forced you to it. "

"No; I was as willing to go into it as what you were, " answered Lapham. "I don't want to blame anybody. "

Mrs. Lapham had a woman's passion for fixing responsibility; she couldnot help saying, as soon as acquitted, "I warned you against him, Silas. I told you not to let him get in any deeper with you. "

"Oh yes. I had to help him to try to get my money back. I might aswell poured water into a sieve. And now--" Lapham stopped. 

"Don't be afraid to speak out to me, Silas Lapham. If it comes to theworst, I want to know it--I've got to know it. What did I ever carefor the money? I've had a happy home with you ever since we weremarried, and I guess I shall have as long as you live, whether we go onto the Back Bay, or go back to the old house at Lapham. I know who'sto blame, and I blame myself. It was my forcing Rogers on to you. " Shecame back to this with her helpless longing, inbred in all Puritansouls, to have some one specifically suffer for the evil in the world, even if it must be herself. 

"It hasn't come to the worst yet, Persis, " said her husband. "But Ishall have to hold up on the new house a little while, till I can seewhere I am. "

"I shouldn't care if we had to sell it, " cried his wife, in passionateself-condemnation. "I should be GLAD if we had to, as far as I'mconcerned. "

"I shouldn't, " said Lapham. 

"I know!" said his wife; and she remembered ruefully how his heart wasset on it. 

He sat musing. "Well, I guess it's going to come out all right in theend. Or, if it ain't, " he sighed, "we can't help it. May be Penneedn't worry so much about Corey, after all, " he continued, with abitter irony new to him. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good. And there's a chance, " he ended, with a still bitterer laugh, "thatRogers will come to time, after all. "

"I don't believe it!" exclaimed Mrs. Lapham, with a gleam of hope inher eyes. "What chance?"

"One in ten million, " said Lapham; and her face fell again. "He saysthere are some English parties after him to buy these mills. "

"Well?"

"Well, I gave him twenty-four hours to prove himself a liar. "

"You don't believe there are any such parties?"

"Not in THIS world. "

"But if there were?"

"Well, if there were, Persis----But pshaw!"

"No, no!" she pleaded eagerly. "It don't seem as if he COULD be such avillain. What would be the use of his pretending? If he brought theparties to you. "

"Well, " said Lapham scornfully, "I'd let them have the mills at theprice Rogers turned 'em in on me at. I don't want to make anything on'em. But guess I shall hear from the G. L. & P. First. And when theymake their offer, I guess I'll have to accept it, whatever it is. Idon't think they'll have a great many competitors. "

Mrs. Lapham could not give up her hope. "If you could get your pricefrom those English parties before they knew that the G. L. & P. Wantedto buy the mills, would it let you out with Rogers?"

"Just about, " said Lapham. 

"Then I know he'll move heaven and earth to bring it about. I KNOW youwon't be allowed to suffer for doing him a kindness, Silas. He CAN'Tbe so ungrateful! Why, why SHOULD he pretend to have any such partiesin view when he hasn't? Don't you be down-hearted, Si. You'll see thathe'll be round with them to-morrow. "

Lapham laughed, but she urged so many reasons for her belief in Rogersthat Lapham began to rekindle his own faith a little. He ended byasking for a hot cup of tea; and Mrs. Lapham sent the pot out and had afresh one steeped for him. After that he made a hearty supper in therevulsion from his entire despair; and they fell asleep that nighttalking hopefully of his affairs, which he laid before her fully, as heused to do when he first started in business. That brought the oldtimes back, and he said: "If this had happened then, I shouldn't havecared much. I was young then, and I wasn't afraid of anything. But Inoticed that after I passed fifty I began to get scared easier. Idon't believe I could pick up, now, from a regular knock-down. "

"Pshaw! YOU scared, Silas Lapham?" cried his wife proudly. "I shouldlike to see the thing that ever scared you; or the knockdown that YOUcouldn't pick up from!"

"Is that so, Persis?" he asked, with the joy her courage gave him. 

In the middle of the night she called to him, in a voice which thedarkness rendered still more deeply troubled: "Are you awake, Silas?"

"Yes; I'm awake. "

"I've been thinking about those English parties, Si----"

"So've I. "

"And I can't make it out but what you'd be just as bad as Rogers, everybit and grain, if you were to let them have the mills----"

"And not tell 'em what the chances were with the G. L. & P. ? I thoughtof that, and you needn't be afraid. "

She began to bewail herself, and to sob convulsively: "O Silas! OSilas!" Heaven knows in what measure the passion of her soul was miredwith pride in her husband's honesty, relief from an apprehendedstruggle, and pity for him. 

"Hush, hush, Persis!" he besought her. "You'll wake Pen if you keep onthat way. Don't cry any more! You mustn't. "

"Oh, let me cry, Silas! It'll help me. I shall be all right in aminute. Don't you mind. " She sobbed herself quiet. "It does seem toohard, " she said, when she could speak again, "that you have to give upthis chance when Providence had fairly raised it up for you. "

"I guess it wa'n't Providence raised it up, " said Lapham. "Any rate, it's got to go. Most likely Rogers was lyin', and there ain't any suchparties; but if there were, they couldn't have the mills from mewithout the whole story. Don't you be troubled, Persis. I'm going topull through all right. " "Oh, I ain't afraid. I don't suppose but whatthere's plenty would help you, if they knew you needed it, Si. "

"They would if they knew I DIDN'T need it, " said Lapham sardonically. 

"Did you tell Bill how you stood?"

"No, I couldn't bear to. I've been the rich one so long, that Icouldn't bring myself to own up that I was in danger. "

"Yes. "

"Besides, it didn't look so ugly till to-day. But I guess we shan't letugly looks scare us. "

"No. "

XXII. 

THE morning postman brought Mrs. Lapham a letter from Irene, which waschiefly significant because it made no reference whatever to the writeror her state of mind. It gave the news of her uncle's family; it toldof their kindness to her; her cousin Will was going to take her and hissisters ice-boating on the river, when it froze. 

By the time this letter came, Lapham had gone to his business, and themother carried it to Penelope to talk over. "What do you make out ofit?" she asked; and without waiting to be answered she said, "I don'tknow as I believe in cousins marrying, a great deal; but if Irene andWill were to fix it up between 'em----" She looked vaguely at Penelope. 

"It wouldn't make any difference as far as I was concerned, " repliedthe girl listlessly. 

Mrs. Lapham lost her patience. 

"Well, then, I'll tell you what, Penelope!" she exclaimed. "Perhapsit'll make a difference to you if you know that your father's in REALtrouble. He's harassed to death, and he was awake half the night, talking about it. That abominable Rogers has got a lot of money awayfrom him; and he's lost by others that he's helped, "--Mrs. Lapham putit in this way because she had no time to be explicit, --"and I want youshould come out of your room now, and try to be of some help andcomfort to him when he comes home to-night. I guess Irene wouldn'tmope round much, if she was here, " she could not help adding. 

The girl lifted herself on her elbow. "What's that you say aboutfather?" she demanded eagerly. "Is he in trouble? Is he going to losehis money? Shall we have to stay in this house?"

"We may be very GLAD to stay in this house, " said Mrs. Lapham, halfangry with herself for having given cause for the girl's conjectures, and half with the habit of prosperity in her child, which couldconceive no better of what adversity was. "And I want you should getup and show that you've got some feeling for somebody in the worldbesides yourself. "

"Oh, I'll get UP!" said the girl promptly, almost cheerfully. 

"I don't say it's as bad now as it looked a little while ago, " said hermother, conscientiously hedging a little from the statement which shehad based rather upon her feelings than her facts. "Your father thinkshe'll pull through all right, and I don't know but what he will. But Iwant you should see if you can't do something to cheer him up and keephim from getting so perfectly down-hearted as he seems to get, underthe load he's got to carry. And stop thinking about yourself a while, and behave yourself like a sensible girl. "

"Yes, yes, " said the girl; "I will. You needn't be troubled about meany more. "

Before she left her room she wrote a note, and when she came down shewas dressed to go out-of-doors and post it herself. The note was toCorey:--

"Do not come to see me any more till you hear from me. I have a reasonwhich I cannot give you now; and you must not ask what it is. "

All day she went about in a buoyant desperation, and she came down tomeet her father at supper. 

"Well, Persis, " he said scornfully, as he sat down, "we might as wellsaved our good resolutions till they were wanted. I guess thoseEnglish parties have gone back on Rogers. "

"Do you mean he didn't come?"

"He hadn't come up to half-past five, " said Lapham. 

"Tchk!" uttered his wife. "But I guess I shall pull through withoutMr. Rogers, " continued Lapham. "A firm that I didn't think COULDweather it is still afloat, and so far forth as the danger goes ofbeing dragged under with it, I'm all right. " Penelope came in. "Hello, Pen!" cried her father. "It ain't often I meet YOU nowadays. " He putup his hand as she passed his chair, and pulled her down and kissed her. 

"No, " she said; "but I thought I'd come down to-night and cheer you upa little. I shall not talk; the sight of me will be enough. "

Her father laughed out. "Mother been telling you? Well, I WAS prettyblue last night; but I guess I was more scared than hurt. How'd youlike to go to the theatre to-night? Sellers at the Park. Heigh?"

"Well, I don't know. Don't you think they could get along without methere?"

"No; couldn't work it at all, " cried the Colonel. "Let's all go. Unless, " he added inquiringly, "there's somebody coming here?"

"There's nobody coming, " said Penelope. 

"Good! Then we'll go. Mother, don't you be late now. "

"Oh, I shan't keep you waiting, " said Mrs. Lapham. She had thought oftelling what a cheerful letter she had got from Irene; but upon thewhole it seemed better not to speak of Irene at all just then. Afterthey returned from the theatre, where the Colonel roared through thecomedy, with continual reference of his pleasure to Penelope, to makesure that she was enjoying it too, his wife said, as if the wholeaffair had been for the girl's distraction rather than his, "I don'tbelieve but what it's going to come out all right about the children;"and then she told him of the letter, and the hopes she had founded uponit. 

"Well, perhaps you're right, Persis, " he consented. 

"I haven't seen Pen so much like herself since it happened. I declare, when I see the way she came out to-night, just to please you, I don'tknow as I want you should get over all your troubles right away. "

"I guess there'll be enough to keep Pen going for a while yet, " saidthe Colonel, winding up his watch. 

But for a time there was a relief, which Walker noted, in theatmosphere at the office, and then came another cold wave, slighterthan the first, but distinctly felt there, and succeeded by anotherrelief. It was like the winter which was wearing on to the end of theyear, with alternations of freezing weather, and mild days stretchingto weeks, in which the snow and ice wholly disappeared. It was nonethe less winter, and none the less harassing for these fluctuations, and Lapham showed in his face and temper the effect of likefluctuations in his affairs. He grew thin and old, and both at homeand at his office he was irascible to the point of offence. In thesedays Penelope shared with her mother the burden of their troubled home, and united with her in supporting the silence or the petulance of thegloomy, secret man who replaced the presence of jolly prosperity there. Lapham had now ceased to talk of his troubles, and savagely resentedhis wife's interference. "You mind your own business, Persis, " he saidone day, "if you've got any;" and after that she left him mainly toPenelope, who did not think of asking him questions. 

"It's pretty hard on you, Pen, " she said. 

"That makes it easier for me, " returned the girl, who did not otherwiserefer to her own trouble. 

In her heart she had wondered a little at the absolute obedience ofCorey, who had made no sign since receiving her note. She would haveliked to ask her father if Corey was sick; she would have liked him toask her why Corey did not come any more. Her mother went on--

"I don't believe your father knows WHERE he stands. He works away atthose papers he brings home here at night, as if he didn't half knowwhat he was about. He always did have that close streak in him, and Idon't suppose but what he's been going into things he don't wantanybody else to know about, and he's kept these accounts of his own. "

Sometimes he gave Penelope figures to work at, which he would notsubmit to his wife's nimbler arithmetic. Then she went to bed and leftthem sitting up till midnight, struggling with problems in which theywere both weak. But she could see that the girl was a comfort to herfather, and that his troubles were a defence and shelter to her. Somenights she could hear them going out together, and then she lay awakefor their return from their long walk. When the hour or day of respitecame again, the home felt it first. Lapham wanted to know what thenews from Irene was; he joined his wife in all her cheerfulspeculations, and tried to make her amends for his sullen reticence andirritability. Irene was staying on at Dubuque. There came a letterfrom her, saying that her uncle's people wanted her to spend the winterthere. "Well, let her, " said Lapham. "It'll be the best thing forher. "

Lapham himself had letters from his brother at frequent intervals. Hisbrother was watching the G. L. & P. , which as yet had made no offer forthe mills. Once, when one of these letters came, he submitted to hiswife whether, in the absence of any positive information that the roadwanted the property, he might not, with a good conscience, dispose ofit to the best advantage to anybody who came along. 

She looked wistfully at him; it was on the rise from a season of deepdepression with him. "No, Si, " she said; "I don't see how you could dothat. "

He did not assent and submit, as he had done at first, but began torail at the unpracticality of women; and then he shut some papers hehad been looking over into his desk, and flung out of the room. 

One of the papers had slipped through the crevice of the lid, and layupon the floor. Mrs. Lapham kept on at her sewing, but after a whileshe picked the paper up to lay it on the desk. Then she glanced at it, and saw that it was a long column of dates and figures, recordingsuccessive sums, never large ones, paid regularly to "Wm. M. " The datescovered a year, and the sum amounted at least to several hundreds. 

Mrs. Lapham laid the paper down on the desk, and then she took it upagain and put it into her work-basket, meaning to give it to him. Whenhe came in she saw him looking absent-mindedly about for something, andthen going to work upon his papers, apparently without it. She thoughtshe would wait till he missed it definitely, and then give him thescrap she had picked up. It lay in her basket, and after some days itfound its way under the work in it, and she forgot it. 

XXIII. 

SINCE New Year's there had scarcely been a mild day, and the streetswere full of snow, growing foul under the city feet and hoofs, andrenewing its purity from the skies with repeated falls, which in turnlost their whiteness, beaten down, and beaten black and hard into asolid bed like iron. The sleighing was incomparable, and the air wasfull of the din of bells; but Lapham's turnout was not of those thatthronged the Brighton road every afternoon; the man at thelivery-stable sent him word that the mare's legs were swelling. 

He and Corey had little to do with each other. He did not know howPenelope had arranged it with Corey; his wife said she knew no morethan he did, and he did not like to ask the girl herself, especially asCorey no longer came to the house. He saw that she was cheerfullerthan she had been, and helpfuller with him and her mother. Now andthen Lapham opened his troubled soul to her a little, letting histhought break into speech without preamble or conclusion. Once hesaid--

"Pen, I presume you know I'm in trouble. "

"We all seem to be there, " said the girl. 

"Yes, but there's a difference between being there by your own faultand being there by somebody else's. "

"I don't call it his fault, " she said. 

"I call it mine, " said the Colonel. 

The girl laughed. Her thought was of her own care, and her father'swholly of his. She must come to his ground. "What have you been doingwrong?"

"I don't know as you'd call it wrong. It's what people do all thetime. But I wish I'd let stocks alone. It's what I always promisedyour mother I would do. But there's no use cryin' over spilt milk; orwatered stock, either. "

"I don't think there's much use crying about anything. If it couldhave been cried straight, it would have been all right from the start, "said the girl, going back to her own affair; and if Lapham had not beenso deeply engrossed in his, he might have seen how little she cared forall that money could do or undo. He did not observe her enough to seehow variable her moods were in those days, and how often she sank fromsome wild gaiety into abject melancholy; how at times she was fiercelydefiant of nothing at all, and at others inexplicably humble andpatient. But no doubt none of these signs had passed unnoticed by hiswife, to whom Lapham said one day, when he came home, "Persis, what'sthe reason Pen don't marry Corey?"

"You know as well as I do, Silas, " said Mrs. Lapham, with an inquiringlook at him for what lay behind his words. 

"Well, I think it's all tomfoolery, the way she's going on. Thereain't any rhyme nor reason to it. " He stopped, and his wife waited. "If she said the word, I could have some help from them. " He hung hishead, and would not meet his wife's eye. 

"I guess you're in a pretty bad way, Si, " she said pityingly, "or youwouldn't have come to that. "

"I'm in a hole, " said Lapham, "and I don't know where to turn. Youwon't let me do anything about those mills----"

"Yes, I'll let you, " said his wife sadly. 

He gave a miserable cry. "You know I can't do anything, if you do. Omy Lord!"

She had not seen him so low as that before. She did not know what tosay. She was frightened, and could only ask, "Has it come to theworst?"

"The new house has got to go, " he answered evasively. 

She did not say anything. She knew that the work on the house had beenstopped since the beginning of the year. Lapham had told the architectthat he preferred to leave it unfinished till the spring, as there wasno prospect of their being able to get into it that winter; and thearchitect had agreed with him that it would not hurt it to stand. Herheart was heavy for him, though she could not say so. They sattogether at the table, where she had come to be with him at his belatedmeal. She saw that he did not eat, and she waited for him to speakagain, without urging him to take anything. They were past that. 

"And I've sent orders to shut down at the Works, " he added. 

"Shut down at the Works!" she echoed with dismay. She could not takeit in. The fire at the Works had never been out before since it wasfirst kindled. She knew how he had prided himself upon that; how hehad bragged of it to every listener, and had always lugged the fact inas the last expression of his sense of success. "O Silas!"

"What's the use?" he retorted. "I saw it was coming a month ago. There are some fellows out in West Virginia that have been running thepaint as hard as they could. They couldn't do much; they used to putit on the market raw. But lately they got to baking it, and nowthey've struck a vein of natural gas right by their works, and they payten cents for fuel, where I pay a dollar, and they make as good apaint. Anybody can see where it's going to end. Besides, the market'sover-stocked. It's glutted. There wa'n't anything to do but to shutDOWN, and I've SHUT down. "

"I don't know what's going to become of the hands in the middle of thewinter, this way, " said Mrs. Lapham, laying hold of one definitethought which she could grasp in the turmoil of ruin that whirledbefore her eyes. 

"I don't care what becomes of the hands, " cried Lapham. "They'veshared my luck; now let 'em share the other thing. And if you're sovery sorry for the hands, I wish you'd keep a little of your pity forME. Don't you know what shutting down the Works means?"

"Yes, indeed I do, Silas, " said his wife tenderly. 

"Well, then!" He rose, leaving his supper untasted, and went into thesitting-room, where she presently found him, with that everlastingconfusion of papers before him on the desk. That made her think of thepaper in her work-basket, and she decided not to make the careworn, distracted man ask her for it, after all. She brought it to him. 

He glanced blankly at it and then caught it from her, turning red andlooking foolish. "Where'd you get that?"

"You dropped it on the floor the other night, and I picked it up. Whois 'Wm. M. '?"

"'Wm. M. '!" he repeated, looking confusedly at her, and then at thepaper. "Oh, --it's nothing. " He tore the paper into small pieces, andwent and dropped them into the fire. When Mrs. Lapham came into theroom in the morning, before he was down, she found a scrap of thepaper, which must have fluttered to the hearth; and glancing at it shesaw that the words were "Mrs. M. " She wondered what dealings with awoman her husband could have, and she remembered the confusion he hadshown about the paper, and which she had thought was because she hadsurprised one of his business secrets. She was still thinking of itwhen he came down to breakfast, heavy-eyed, tremulous, with deep seamsand wrinkles in his face. 

After a silence which he did not seem inclined to break, "Silas, " sheasked, "who is 'Mrs. M. '?"

He stared at her. "I don't know what you're talking about. "

"Don't you?" she returned mockingly. "When you do, you tell me. Doyou want any more coffee?"

"No. "

"Well, then, you can ring for Alice when you've finished. I've gotsome things to attend to. " She rose abruptly, and left the room. Lapham looked after her in a dull way, and then went on with hisbreakfast. While he still sat at his coffee, she flung into the roomagain, and dashed some papers down beside his plate. "Here are somemore things of yours, and I'll thank you to lock them up in your deskand not litter my room with them, if you please. " Now he saw that shewas angry, and it must be with him. It enraged him that in such a timeof trouble she should fly out at him in that way. He left the housewithout trying to speak to her. That day Corey came just beforeclosing, and, knocking at Lapham's door, asked if he could speak withhim a few moments. 

"Yes, " said Lapham, wheeling round in his swivel-chair and kickinganother towards Corey. "Sit down. I want to talk to you. I'd oughtto tell you you're wasting your time here. I spoke the other day aboutyour placin' yourself better, and I can help you to do it, yet. Thereain't going to be the out-come for the paint in the foreign marketsthat we expected, and I guess you better give it up. "

"I don't wish to give it up, " said the young fellow, setting his lips. "I've as much faith in it as ever; and I want to propose now what Ihinted at in the first place. I want to put some money into thebusiness. "

"Some money!" Lapham leaned towards him, and frowned as if he had notquite understood, while he clutched the arms of his chair. 

"I've got about thirty thousand dollars that I could put in, and if youdon't want to consider me a partner--I remember that you objected to apartner--you can let me regard it as an investment. But I think I seethe way to doing something at once in Mexico, and I should like to feelthat I had something more than a drummer's interest in the venture. "

The men sat looking into each other's eyes. Then Lapham leaned back inhis chair, and rubbed his hand hard and slowly over his face. Hisfeatures were still twisted with some strong emotion when he took itaway. "Your family know about this?"

"My Uncle James knows. "

"He thinks it would be a good plan for you?"

"He thought that by this time I ought to be able to trust my ownjudgment. "

"Do you suppose I could see your uncle at his office?"

"I imagine he's there. "

"Well, I want to have a talk with him, one of these days. " He satpondering a while, and then rose, and went with Corey to his door. "Iguess I shan't change my mind about taking you into the business inthat way, " he said coldly. "If there was any reason why I shouldn't atfirst, there's more now. "

"Very well, sir, " answered the young man, and went to close his desk. The outer office was empty; but while Corey was putting his papers inorder it was suddenly invaded by two women, who pushed by theprotesting porter on the stairs and made their way towards Lapham'sroom. One of them was Miss Dewey, the type-writer girl, and the otherwas a woman whom she would resemble in face and figure twenty yearshence, if she led a life of hard work varied by paroxysms of harddrinking. 

"That his room, Z'rilla?" asked this woman, pointing towards Lapham'sdoor with a hand that had not freed itself from the fringe of dirtyshawl under which it had hung. She went forward without waiting forthe answer, but before she could reach it the door opened, and Laphamstood filling its space. 

"Look here, Colonel Lapham!" began the woman, in a high key ofchallenge. "I want to know if this is the way you're goin' back on meand Z'rilla?"

"What do you want?" asked Lapham. 

"What do I want? What do you s'pose I want? I want the money to pay mymonth's rent; there ain't a bite to eat in the house; and I want somemoney to market. "

Lapham bent a frown on the woman, under which she shrank back a step. "You've taken the wrong way to get it. Clear out!"

"I WON'T clear out!" said the woman, beginning to whimper. 

"Corey!" said Lapham, in the peremptory voice of a master, --he hadseemed so indifferent to Corey's presence that the young man thought hemust have forgotten he was there, --"Is Dennis anywhere round?"

"Yissor, " said Dennis, answering for himself from the head of thestairs, and appearing in the ware-room. 

Lapham spoke to the woman again. "Do you want I should call a hack, ordo you want I should call an officer?"

The woman began to cry into an end of her shawl. "I don't know whatwe're goin' to do. "

"You're going to clear out, " said Lapham. "Call a hack, Dennis. Ifyou ever come here again, I'll have you arrested. Mind that! Zerrilla, I shall want you early to-morrow morning. "

"Yes, sir, " said the girl meekly; she and her mother shrank out afterthe porter. 

Lapham shut his door without a word. 

At lunch the next day Walker made himself amends for Corey's reticenceby talking a great deal. He talked about Lapham, who seemed to have, more than ever since his apparent difficulties began, the fascinationof an enigma for his book-keeper, and he ended by asking, "Did you seethat little circus last night?"

"What little circus?" asked Corey in his turn. 

"Those two women and the old man. Dennis told me about it. I told himif he liked his place he'd better keep his mouth shut. "

"That was very good advice, " said Corey. 

"Oh, all right, if you don't want to talk. Don't know as I should inyour place, " returned Walker, in the easy security he had long feltthat Corey had no intention of putting on airs with him. "But I'lltell you what: the old man can't expect it of everybody. If he keepsthis thing up much longer, it's going to be talked about. You can'thave a woman walking into your place of business, and trying tobulldoze you before your porter, without setting your porter tothinking. And the last thing you want a porter to do is to think; forwhen a porter thinks, he thinks wrong. "

"I don't see why even a porter couldn't think right about that affair, "replied Corey. "I don't know who the woman was, though I believe shewas Miss Dewey's mother; but I couldn't see that Colonel Lapham showedanything but a natural resentment of her coming to him in that way. Ishould have said she was some rather worthless person whom he'd beenbefriending, and that she had presumed upon his kindness. "

"Is that so? What do you think of his never letting Miss Dewey's namego on the books?"

"That it's another proof it's a sort of charity of his. That's theonly way to look at it. "

"Oh, I'M all right. " Walker lighted a cigar and began to smoke, withhis eyes closed to a fine straight line. "It won't do for abook-keeper to think wrong, any more than a porter, I suppose. But Iguess you and I don't think very different about this thing. "

"Not if you think as I do, " replied Corey steadily; "and I know youwould do that if you had seen the 'circus' yourself. A man doesn'ttreat people who have a disgraceful hold upon him as he treated them. "

"It depends upon who he is, " said Walker, taking his cigar from hismouth. "I never said the old man was afraid of anything. "

"And character, " continued Corey, disdaining to touch the matterfurther, except in generalities, "must go for something. If it's to bethe prey of mere accident and appearance, then it goes for nothing. "

"Accidents will happen in the best regulated families, " said Walker, with vulgar, good-humoured obtuseness that filled Corey withindignation. Nothing, perhaps, removed his matter-of-fact naturefurther from the commonplace than a certain generosity of instinct, which I should not be ready to say was always infallible. 

That evening it was Miss Dewey's turn to wait for speech with Laphamafter the others were gone. He opened his door at her knock, and stoodlooking at her with a worried air. "Well, what do you want, Zerrilla?"he asked, with a sort of rough kindness. 

"I want to know what I'm going to do about Hen. He's back again; andhe and mother have made it up, and they both got to drinking last nightafter I went home, and carried on so that the neighbours came in. "

Lapham passed his hand over his red and heated face. "I don't knowwhat I'm going to do. You're twice the trouble that my own family is, now. But I know what I'd do, mighty quick, if it wasn't for you, Zerrilla, " he went on relentingly. "I'd shut your mother upsomewheres, and if I could get that fellow off for a three years'voyage----"

"I declare, " said Miss Dewey, beginning to whimper, "it seems as if hecame back just so often to spite me. He's never gone more than a yearat the furthest, and you can't make it out habitual drunkenness, either, when it's just sprees. I'm at my wit's end. "

"Oh, well, you mustn't cry around here, " said Lapham soothingly. 

"I know it, " said Miss Dewey. "If I could get rid of Hen, I couldmanage well enough with mother. Mr. Wemmel would marry me if I couldget the divorce. He's said so over and over again. "

"I don't know as I like that very well, " said Lapham, frowning. "Idon't know as I want you should get married in any hurry again. Idon't know as I like your going with anybody else just yet. "

"Oh, you needn't be afraid but what it'll be all right. It'll be thebest thing all round, if I can marry him. "

"Well!" said Lapham impatiently; "I can't think about it now. Isuppose they've cleaned everything out again?"

"Yes, they have, " said Zerrilla; "there isn't a cent left. "

"You're a pretty expensive lot, " said Lapham. "Well, here!" He tookout his pocket-book and gave her a note. "I'll be round to-night andsee what can be done. "

He shut himself into his room again, and Zerrilla dried her tears, putthe note into her bosom, and went her way. 

Lapham kept the porter nearly an hour later. It was then six o'clock, the hour at which the Laphams usually had tea; but all custom had beenbroken up with him during the past months, and he did not go home now. He determined, perhaps in the extremity in which a man finds relief incombating one care with another, to keep his promise to Miss Dewey, andat the moment when he might otherwise have been sitting down at his owntable he was climbing the stairs to her lodging in the old-fashioneddwelling which had been portioned off into flats. It was in a regionof depots, and of the cheap hotels, and "ladies' and gents'"dining-rooms, and restaurants with bars, which abound near depots; andLapham followed to Miss Dewey's door a waiter from one of these, whobore on a salver before him a supper covered with a napkin. Zerrillahad admitted them, and at her greeting a young fellow in the shabbyshore-suit of a sailor, buttoning imperfectly over the nautical blueflannel of his shirt, got up from where he had been sitting, on oneside of the stove, and stood infirmly on his feet, in token ofreceiving the visitor. The woman who sat on the other side did notrise, but began a shrill, defiant apology. 

"Well, I don't suppose but what you'll think we're livin' on the fat o'the land, right straight along, all the while. But it's just likethis. When that child came in from her work, she didn't seem to havethe spirit to go to cookin' anything, and I had such a bad night lastnight I was feelin' all broke up, and s'd I, what's the use, anyway? Bythe time the butcher's heaved in a lot o' bone, and made you pay forthe suet he cuts away, it comes to the same thing, and why not GIT itfrom the rest'rant first off, and save the cost o' your fire? s'd I. "

"What have you got there under your apron? A bottle?" demanded Lapham, who stood with his hat on and his hands in his pockets, indifferentalike to the ineffective reception of the sailor and the chair Zerrillahad set him. 

"Well, yes, it's a bottle, " said the woman, with an assumption ofvirtuous frankness. "It's whisky; I got to have something to rub myrheumatism with. "

"Humph!" grumbled Lapham. "You've been rubbing HIS rheumatism too, Isee. "

He twisted his head in the direction of the sailor, now softly andrhythmically waving to and fro on his feet. 

"He hain't had a drop to-day in THIS house!" cried the woman. 

"What are you doing around here?" said Lapham, turning fiercely uponhim. "You've got no business ashore. Where's your ship? Do you thinkI'm going to let you come here and eat your wife out of house and home, and then give money to keep the concern going?"

"Just the very words I said when he first showed his face here, yist'day. Didn't I, Z'rilla?" said the woman, eagerly joining in therebuke of her late boon companion. "You got no business here, Hen, s'dI. You can't come here to live on me and Z'rilla, s'd I. You want to goback to your ship, s'd I. That's what I said. "

The sailor mumbled, with a smile of tipsy amiability for Lapham, something about the crew being discharged. 

"Yes, " the woman broke in, "that's always the way with these coasters. Why don't you go off on some them long v'y'ges? s'd I. It's pretty hardwhen Mr. Wemmel stands ready to marry Z'rilla and provide a comfortablehome for us both--I hain't got a great many years more to live, and ISHOULD like to get some satisfaction out of 'em, and not be beholdenand dependent all my days, --to have Hen, here, blockin' the way. Itell him there'd be more money for him in the end; but he can't seem tomake up his mind to it. "

"Well, now, look here, " said Lapham. "I don't care anything about allthat. It's your own business, and I'm not going to meddle with it. But it's my business who lives off me; and so I tell you all three, I'mwilling to take care of Zerrilla, and I'm willing to take care of hermother----"

"I guess if it hadn't been for that child's father, " the motherinterpolated, "you wouldn't been here to tell the tale, Colonel Lapham. "

"I know all about that, " said Lapham. "But I'll tell you what, Mr. Dewey, I'm not going to support YOU. "

"I don't see what Hen's done, " said the old woman impartially. 

"He hasn't done anything, and I'm going to stop it. He's got to get aship, and he's got to get out of this. And Zerrilla needn't come backto work till he does. I'm done with you all. "

"Well, I vow, " said the mother, "if I ever heard anything like it!Didn't that child's father lay down his life for you? Hain't you saidit yourself a hundred times? And don't she work for her money, andslave for it mornin', noon, and night? You talk as if we was beholdento you for the very bread in our mouths. I guess if it hadn't been forJim, you wouldn't been here crowin' over us. "

"You mind what I say. I mean business this time, " said Lapham, turningto the door. 

The woman rose and followed him, with her bottle in her hand. "Say, Colonel! what should you advise Z'rilla to do about Mr. Wemmel? I tellher there ain't any use goin' to the trouble to git a divorce withoutshe's sure about him. Don't you think we'd ought to git him to sign apaper, or something, that he'll marry her if she gits it? I don't liketo have things going at loose ends the way they are. It ain't sense. It ain't right. "

Lapham made no answer to the mother anxious for her child's future, andconcerned for the moral questions involved. He went out and down thestairs, and on the pavement at the lower door he almost struck againstRogers, who had a bag in his hand, and seemed to be hurrying towardsone of the depots. He halted a little, as if to speak to Lapham; butLapham turned his back abruptly upon him, and took the other direction. 

The days were going by in a monotony of adversity to him, from which hecould no longer escape, even at home. He attempted once or twice totalk of his troubles to his wife, but she repulsed him sharply; sheseemed to despise and hate him; but he set himself doggedly to make aconfession to her, and he stopped her one night, as she came into theroom where he sat--hastily upon some errand that was to take herdirectly away again. 

"Persis, there's something I've got to tell you. "

She stood still, as if fixed against her will, to listen. 

"I guess you know something about it already, and I guess it set youagainst me. "

"Oh, I guess not, Colonel Lapham. You go your way, and I go mine. That's all. "

She waited for him to speak, listening with a cold, hard smile on herface. 

"I don't say it to make favour with you, because I don't want you tospare me, and I don't ask you; but I got into it through Milton K. Rogers. "

"Oh!" said Mrs. Lapham contemptuously. 

"I always felt the way I said about it--that it wa'n't any better thangambling, and I say so now. It's like betting on the turn of a card;and I give you my word of honour, Persis, that I never was in it at alltill that scoundrel began to load me up with those wild-cat securitiesof his. Then it seemed to me as if I ought to try to do something toget somewhere even. I know it's no excuse; but watching the market tosee what the infernal things were worth from day to day, and seeing itgo up, and seeing it go down, was too much for me; and, to make a longstory short, I began to buy and sell on a margin--just what I told youI never would do. I seemed to make something--I did make something;and I'd have stopped, I do believe, if I could have reached the figureI'd set in my own mind to start with; but I couldn't fetch it. I beganto lose, and then I began to throw good money after bad, just as Ialways did with everything that Rogers ever came within a mile of. Well, what's the use? I lost the money that would have carried me outof this, and I shouldn't have had to shut down the Works, or sell thehouse, or----"

Lapham stopped. His wife, who at first had listened withmystification, and then dawning incredulity, changing into a look ofrelief that was almost triumph, lapsed again into severity. "SilasLapham, if you was to die the next minute, is this what you started totell me?"

"Why, of course it is. What did you suppose I started to tell you?"

"And--look me in the eyes!--you haven't got anything else on your mindnow?"

"No! There's trouble enough, the Lord knows; but there's nothing elseto tell you. I suppose Pen gave you a hint about it. I droppedsomething to her. I've been feeling bad about it, Persis, a goodwhile, but I hain't had the heart to speak of it. I can't expect youto say you like it. I've been a fool, I'll allow, and I've beensomething worse, if you choose to say so; but that's all. I haven'thurt anybody but myself--and you and the children. "

Mrs. Lapham rose and said, with her face from him, as she turnedtowards the door, "It's all right, Silas. I shan't ever bring it upagainst you. "

She fled out of the room, but all that evening she was very sweet withhim, and seemed to wish in all tacit ways to atone for her pastunkindness. 

She made him talk of his business, and he told her of Corey's offer, and what he had done about it. She did not seem to care for his partin it, however; at which Lapham was silently disappointed a little, forhe would have liked her to praise him. 

"He did it on account of Pen!"

"Well, he didn't insist upon it, anyway, " said Lapham, who must haveobscurely expected that Corey would recognise his own magnanimity byrepeating his offer. If the doubt that follows a self-devotedaction--the question whether it was not after all a needless folly--ismixed, as it was in Lapham's case, with the vague belief that we mighthave done ourselves a good turn without great risk of hurting any oneelse by being a little less unselfish, it becomes a regret that is hardto bear. Since Corey spoke to him, some things had happened that gaveLapham hope again. 

"I'm going to tell her about it, " said his wife, and she showed herselfimpatient to make up for the time she had lost. "Why didn't you tellme before, Silas?"

"I didn't know we were on speaking terms before, " said Lapham sadly. 

"Yes, that's true, " she admitted, with a conscious flush. "I hope hewon't think Pen's known about it all this while. "

XXIV. 

THAT evening James Bellingham came to see Corey after dinner, and wentto find him in his own room. 

"I've come at the instance of Colonel Lapham, " said the uncle. "He wasat my office to-day, and I had a long talk with him. Did you know thathe was in difficulties?"

"I fancied that he was in some sort of trouble. And I had thebook-keeper's conjectures--he doesn't really know much about it. "

"Well, he thinks it time--on all accounts--that you should know how hestands, and why he declined that proposition of yours. I must say hehas behaved very well--like a gentleman. "

"I'm not surprised. "

"I am. It's hard to behave like a gentleman where your interest isvitally concerned. And Lapham doesn't strike me as a man who's in thehabit of acting from the best in him always. "

"Do any of us?" asked Corey. 

"Not all of us, at any rate, " said Bellingham. "It must have cost himsomething to say no to you, for he's just in that state when hebelieves that this or that chance, however small, would save him. "

Corey was silent. "Is he really in such a bad way?"

"It's hard to tell just where he stands. I suspect that a hopefultemperament and fondness for round numbers have always caused him toset his figures beyond his actual worth. I don't say that he's beendishonest about it, but he's had a loose way of estimating his assets;he's reckoned his wealth on the basis of his capital, and some of hiscapital is borrowed. He's lost heavily by some of the recent failures, and there's been a terrible shrinkage in his values. I don't meanmerely in the stock of paint on hand, but in a kind of competitionwhich has become very threatening. You know about that West Virginianpaint?"

Corey nodded. 

"Well, he tells me that they've struck a vein of natural gas out therewhich will enable them to make as good a paint as his own at a cost ofmanufacturing so low that they can undersell him everywhere. If thisproves to be the case, it will not only drive his paint out of themarket, but will reduce the value of his Works--the whole plant--atLapham to a merely nominal figure. "

"I see, " said Corey dejectedly. "I've understood that he had put agreat deal of money into his Works. "

"Yes, and he estimated his mine there at a high figure. Of course itwill be worth little or nothing if the West Virginia paint drives hisout. Then, besides, Lapham has been into several things outside of hisown business, and, like a good many other men who try outside things, he's kept account of them himself; and he's all mixed up about them. He's asked me to look into his affairs with him, and I've promised todo so. Whether he can be tided over his difficulties remains to beseen. I'm afraid it will take a good deal of money to do it--a greatdeal more than he thinks, at least. He believes comparatively littlewould do it. I think differently. I think that anything less than agreat deal would be thrown away on him. If it were merely a questionof a certain sum--even a large sum--to keep him going, it might bemanaged; but it's much more complicated. And, as I say, it must havebeen a trial to him to refuse your offer. "

This did not seem to be the way in which Bellingham had meant toconclude. But he said no more; and Corey made him no response. 

He remained pondering the case, now hopefully, now doubtfully, andwondering, whatever his mood was, whether Penelope knew anything of thefact with which her mother went nearly at the same moment to acquainther. 

"Of course, he's done it on your account, " Mrs. Lapham could not helpsaying. 

"Then he was very silly. Does he think I would let him give fathermoney? And if father lost it for him, does he suppose it would make itany easier for me? I think father acted twice as well. It was verysilly. "

In repeating the censure, her look was not so severe as her tone; sheeven smiled a little, and her mother reported to her father that sheacted more like herself than she had yet since Corey's offer. 

"I think, if he was to repeat his offer, she would have him now, " saidMrs. Lapham. 

"Well, I'll let her know if he does, " said the Colonel. 

"I guess he won't do it to you!" she cried. 

"Who else will he do it to?" he demanded. 

They perceived that they had each been talking of a different offer. 

After Lapham went to his business in the morning the postman broughtanother letter from Irene, which was full of pleasant things that werehappening to her; there was a great deal about her cousin Will, as shecalled him. At the end she had written, "Tell Pen I don't want sheshould be foolish. " "There!" said Mrs. Lapham. "I guess it's going tocome out right, all round;" and it seemed as if even the Colonel'sdifficulties were past. "When your father gets through this, Pen, " sheasked impulsively, "what shall you do?"

"What have you been telling Irene about me?"

"Nothing much. What should you do?"

"It would be a good deal easier to say what I should do if fatherdidn't, " said the girl. 

"I know you think it was nice in him to make your father that offer, "urged the mother. 

"It was nice, yes; but it was silly, " said the girl. "Most nice thingsare silly, I suppose, " she added. 

She went to her room and wrote a letter. It was very long, and verycarefully written; and when she read it over, she tore it into smallpieces. She wrote another one, short and hurried, and tore that uptoo. Then she went back to her mother, in the family room, and askedto see Irene's letter, and read it over to herself. "Yes, she seems tobe having a good time, " she sighed. "Mother, do you think I ought tolet Mr. Corey know that I know about it?"

"Well, I should think it would be a pleasure to him, " said Mrs. Laphamjudicially. 

"I'm not so sure of that the way I should have to tell him. I shouldbegin by giving him a scolding. Of course, he meant well by it, butcan't you see that it wasn't very flattering! How did he expect itwould change me?"

"I don't believe he ever thought of that. "

"Don't you? Why?"

"Because you can see that he isn't one of that kind. He might want toplease you without wanting to change you by what he did. "

"Yes. He must have known that nothing would change me, --at least, nothing that he could do. I thought of that. I shouldn't like him tofeel that I couldn't appreciate it, even if I did think it was silly. Should you write to him?"

"I don't see why not. "

"It would be too pointed. No, I shall just let it go. I wish hehadn't done it. "

"Well, he has done it. " "And I've tried to write to him about it--twoletters: one so humble and grateful that it couldn't stand up on itsedge, and the other so pert and flippant. Mother, I wish you couldhave seen those two letters! I wish I had kept them to look at if Iever got to thinking I had any sense again. They would take theconceit out of me. "

"What's the reason he don't come here any more?"

"Doesn't he come?" asked Penelope in turn, as if it were something shehad not noticed particularly. 

"You'd ought to know. "

"Yes. " She sat silent a while. "If he doesn't come, I suppose it'sbecause he's offended at something I did. "

"What did you do?"

"Nothing. I--wrote to him--a little while ago. I suppose it was veryblunt, but I didn't believe he would be angry at it. But this--thisthat he's done shows he was angry, and that he wasn't just seizing thefirst chance to get out of it. "

"What have you done, Pen?" demanded her mother sharply. 

"Oh, I don't know. All the mischief in the world, I suppose. I'lltell you. When you first told me that father was in trouble with hisbusiness, I wrote to him not to come any more till I let him. I said Icouldn't tell him why, and he hasn't been here since. I'm sure I don'tknow what it means. "

Her mother looked at her with angry severity. "Well, Penelope Lapham!For a sensible child, you ARE the greatest goose I ever saw. Did youthink he would come here and SEE if you wouldn't let him come?"

"He might have written, " urged the girl. 

Her mother made that despairing "Tchk!" with her tongue, and fell backin her chair. "I should have DESPISED him if he had written. He'sacted just exactly right, and you--you've acted--I don't know HOWyou've acted. I'm ashamed of you. A girl that could be so sensiblefor her sister, and always say and do just the right thing, and thenwhen it comes to herself to be such a DISGUSTING simpleton!"

"I thought I ought to break with him at once, and not let him supposethat there was any hope for him or me if father was poor. It was myone chance, in this whole business, to do anything heroic, and I jumpedat it. You mustn't think, because I can laugh at it now, that I wasn'tin earnest, mother! I WAS--dead! But the Colonel has gone to ruin sogradually, that he's spoilt everything. I expected that he would bebankrupt the next day, and that then HE would understand what I meant. But to have it drag along for a fortnight seems to take all the heroismout of it, and leave it as flat!" She looked at her mother with a smilethat shone through her tears, and a pathos that quivered round herjesting lips. "It's easy enough to be sensible for other people. Butwhen it comes to myself, there I am! Especially, when I want to do whatI oughtn't so much that it seems as if doing what I didn't want to doMUST be doing what I ought! But it's been a great success one way, mother. It's helped me to keep up before the Colonel. If it hadn'tbeen for Mr. Corey's staying away, and my feeling so indignant with himfor having been badly treated by me, I shouldn't have been worthanything at all. "

The tears started down her cheeks, but her mother said, "Well, now, goalong, and write to him. It don't matter what you say, much; and don'tbe so very particular. "

Her third attempt at a letter pleased her scarcely better than therest, but she sent it, though it seemed so blunt and awkward. Shewrote:--

DEAR FRIEND, --I expected when I sent you that note, that you wouldunderstand, almost the next day, why I could not see you any more. Youmust know now, and you must not think that if anything happened to myfather, I should wish you to help him. But that is no reason why Ishould not thank you, and I do thank you, for offering. It was likeyou, I will say that. 

Yours sincerely, PENELOPE LAPHAM. 

She posted her letter, and he sent his reply in the evening, by hand:--

DEAREST, --What I did was nothing, till you praised it. Everything Ihave and am is yours. Won't you send a line by the bearer, to say thatI may come to see you? I know how you feel; but I am sure that I canmake you think differently. You must consider that I loved you withouta thought of your father's circumstances, and always shall. 

T. C. 

The generous words were blurred to her eyes by the tears that spranginto them. But she could only write in answer:--

"Please do not come; I have made up my mind. As long as this troubleis hanging over us, I cannot see you. And if father is unfortunate, all is over between us. "

She brought his letter to her mother, and told her what she had writtenin reply. Her mother was thoughtful a while before she said, with asigh, "Well, I hope you've begun as you can carry out, Pen. "

"Oh, I shall not have to carry out at all. I shall not have to doanything. That's one comfort--the only comfort. " She went away to herown room, and when Mrs. Lapham told her husband of the affair, he wassilent at first, as she had been. Then he said, "I don't know as Ishould have wanted her to done differently; I don't know as she could. If I ever come right again, she won't have anything to feel meechingabout; and if I don't, I don't want she should be beholden to anybody. And I guess that's the way she feels. "

The Coreys in their turn sat in judgment on the fact which their sonfelt bound to bring to their knowledge. 

"She has behaved very well, " said Mrs. Corey, to whom her son hadspoken. 

"My dear, " said her husband, with his laugh, "she has behaved TOO well. If she had studied the whole situation with the most artful eye to itsmastery, she could not possibly have behaved better. "

The process of Lapham's financial disintegration was like the course ofsome chronic disorder, which has fastened itself upon the constitution, but advances with continual reliefs, with apparent amelioration, and attimes seems not to advance at all, when it gives hope of final recoverynot only to the sufferer, but to the eye of science itself. There weremoments when James Bellingham, seeing Lapham pass this crisis and that, began to fancy that he might pull through altogether; and at thesemoments, when his adviser could not oppose anything but experience andprobability to the evidence of the fact, Lapham was buoyant withcourage, and imparted his hopefulness to his household. Our theory ofdisaster, of sorrow, of affliction, borrowed from the poets andnovelists, is that it is incessant; but every passage in our own livesand in the lives of others, so far as we have witnessed them, teachesus that this is false. The house of mourning is decorously darkened tothe world, but within itself it is also the house of laughing. Burstsof gaiety, as heartfelt as its grief, relieve the gloom, and thestricken survivors have their jests together, in which the thought ofthe dead is tenderly involved, and a fond sense, not crazier than manyothers, of sympathy and enjoyment beyond the silence, justifies thesunnier mood before sorrow rushes back, deploring and despairing, andmaking it all up again with the conventional fitness of things. Lapham's adversity had this quality in common with bereavement. It wasnot always like the adversity we figure in allegory; it had its momentsof being like prosperity, and if upon the whole it was continual, itwas not incessant. Sometimes there was a week of repeated reverses, when he had to keep his teeth set and to hold on hard to all hishopefulness; and then days came of negative result or slight success, when he was full of his jokes at the tea-table, and wanted to go to thetheatre, or to do something to cheer Penelope up. In some miraculousway, by some enormous stroke of success which should eclipse thebrightest of his past prosperity, he expected to do what wouldreconcile all difficulties, not only in his own affairs, but in herstoo. "You'll see, " he said to his wife; "it's going to come out allright. Irene'll fix it up with Bill's boy, and then she'll be offPen's mind; and if things go on as they've been going for the last twodays, I'm going to be in a position to do the favours myself, and Pencan feel that SHE'S makin' a sacrifice, and then I guess may be she'lldo it. If things turn out as I expect now, and times ever do get anybetter generally, I can show Corey that I appreciate his offer. I canoffer him the partnership myself then. "

Even in the other moods, which came when everything had been goingwrong, and there seemed no way out of the net, there were points ofconsolation to Lapham and his wife. They rejoiced that Irene was safebeyond the range of their anxieties, and they had a proud satisfactionthat there had been no engagement between Corey and Penelope, and thatit was she who had forbidden it. In the closeness of interest andsympathy in which their troubles had reunited them, they confessed toeach other that nothing would have been more galling to their pridethan the idea that Lapham should not have been able to do everythingfor his daughter that the Coreys might have expected. Whateverhappened now, the Coreys could not have it to say that the Laphams hadtried to bring any such thing about. 

Bellingham had lately suggested an assignment to Lapham, as the bestway out of his difficulties. It was evident that he had not the moneyto meet his liabilities at present, and that he could not raise itwithout ruinous sacrifices, that might still end in ruin after all. Ifhe made the assignment, Bellingham argued, he could gain time and maketerms; the state of things generally would probably improve, since itcould not be worse, and the market, which he had glutted with hispaint, might recover and he could start again. Lapham had not agreedwith him. When his reverses first began it had seemed easy for him togive up everything, to let the people he owed take all, so only theywould let him go out with clean hands; and he had dramatised thisfeeling in his talk with his wife, when they spoke together of themills on the G. L. & P. But ever since then it had been growing harder, and he could not consent even to seem to do it now in the proposedassignment. He had not found other men so very liberal or faithfulwith him; a good many of them appeared to have combined to hunt himdown; a sense of enmity towards all his creditors asserted itself inhim; he asked himself why they should not suffer a little too. Aboveall, he shrank from the publicity of the assignment. It was openconfession that he had been a fool in some way; he could not bear tohave his family--his brother the judge, especially, to whom he hadalways appeared the soul of business wisdom--think him imprudent orstupid. He would make any sacrifice before it came to that. Hedetermined in parting with Bellingham to make the sacrifice which hehad oftenest in his mind, because it was the hardest, and to sell hisnew house. That would cause the least comment. Most people wouldsimply think that he had got a splendid offer, and with his usual luckhad made a very good thing of it; others who knew a little more abouthim would say that he was hauling in his horns, but they could notblame him; a great many other men were doing the same in those hardtimes--the shrewdest and safest men: it might even have a good effect. He went straight from Bellingham's office to the real-estate broker inwhose hands he meant to put his house, for he was not the sort of manto shilly-shally when he had once made up his mind. But he found ithard to get his voice up out of his throat, when he said he guessed hewould get the broker to sell that new house of his on the water side ofBeacon. The broker answered cheerfully, yes; he supposed ColonelLapham knew it was a pretty dull time in real estate? and Lapham saidyes, he knew that, but he should not sell at a sacrifice, and he didnot care to have the broker name him or describe the house definitelyunless parties meant business. Again the broker said yes; and headded, as a joke Lapham would appreciate, that he had half a dozenhouses on the water side of Beacon, on the same terms; that nobodywanted to be named or to have his property described. 

It did, in fact, comfort Lapham a little to find himself in the sameboat with so many others; he smiled grimly, and said in his turn, yes, he guessed that was about the size of it with a good many people. Buthe had not the heart to tell his wife what he had done, and he sattaciturn that whole evening, without even going over his accounts, andwent early to bed, where he lay tossing half the night before he fellasleep. He slept at last only upon the promise he made himself that hewould withdraw the house from the broker's hands; but he went heavilyto his own business in the morning without doing so. There was no suchrush, anyhow, he reflected bitterly; there would be time to do that amonth later, probably. 

It struck him with a sort of dismay when a boy came with a note from abroker, saying that a party who had been over the house in the fall hadcome to him to know whether it could be bought, and was willing to paythe cost of the house up to the time he had seen it. Lapham tookrefuge in trying to think who the party could be; he concluded that itmust have been somebody who had gone over it with the architect, and hedid not like that; but he was aware that this was not an answer to thebroker, and he wrote that he would give him an answer in the morning. 

Now that it had come to the point, it did not seem to him that he couldpart with the house. So much of his hope for himself and his childrenhad gone into it that the thought of selling it made him tremulous andsick. He could not keep about his work steadily, and with his nervesshaken by want of sleep, and the shock of this sudden and unexpectedquestion, he left his office early, and went over to look at the houseand try to bring himself to some conclusion here. The long processionof lamps on the beautiful street was flaring in the clear red of thesunset towards which it marched, and Lapham, with a lump in his throat, stopped in front of his house and looked at their multitude. They werenot merely a part of the landscape; they were a part of his pride andglory, his success, his triumphant life's work which was fading intofailure in his helpless hands. He ground his teeth to keep down thatlump, but the moisture in his eyes blurred the lamps, and the keen palecrimson against which it made them flicker. He turned and looked up, as he had so often done, at the window-spaces, neatly glazed for thewinter with white linen, and recalled the night when he had stoppedwith Irene before the house, and she had said that she should neverlive there, and he had tried to coax her into courage about it. Therewas no such facade as that on the whole street, to his thinking. Through his long talks with the architect, he had come to feel almostas intimately and fondly as the architect himself the satisfyingsimplicity of the whole design and the delicacy of its detail. Itappealed to him as an exquisite bit of harmony appeals to the unlearnedear, and he recognised the difference between this fine work and theobstreperous pretentiousness of the many overloaded house-fronts whichSeymour had made him notice for his instruction elsewhere on the BackBay. Now, in the depths of his gloom, he tried to think what Italiancity it was where Seymour said he had first got the notion of treatingbrick-work in that way. 

He unlocked the temporary door with the key he always carried, so thathe could let himself in and out whenever he liked, and entered thehouse, dim and very cold with the accumulated frigidity of the wholewinter in it, and looking as if the arrest of work upon it had takenplace a thousand years before. It smelt of the unpainted woods and theclean, hard surfaces of the plaster, where the experiments indecoration had left it untouched; and mingled with these odours wasthat of some rank pigments and metallic compositions which Seymour hadused in trying to realise a certain daring novelty of finish, which hadnot proved successful. Above all, Lapham detected the peculiar odourof his own paint, with which the architect had been greatly interestedone day, when Lapham showed it to him at the office. He had askedLapham to let him try the Persis Brand in realising a little idea hehad for the finish of Mrs. Lapham's room. If it succeeded they couldtell her what it was, for a surprise. 

Lapham glanced at the bay-window in the reception-room, where he satwith his girls on the trestles when Corey first came by; and then heexplored the whole house to the attic, in the light faintly admittedthrough the linen sashes. The floors were strewn with shavings andchips which the carpenters had left, and in the music-room these hadbeen blown into long irregular windrows by the draughts through a widerent in the linen sash. Lapham tried to pin it up, but failed, andstood looking out of it over the water. The ice had left the river, and the low tide lay smooth and red in the light of the sunset. TheCambridge flats showed the sad, sodden yellow of meadows stripped bareafter a long sleep under snow; the hills, the naked trees, the spiresand roofs had a black outline, as if they were objects in a landscapeof the French school. 

The whim seized Lapham to test the chimney in the music-room; it hadbeen tried in the dining-room below, and in his girls' fireplacesabove, but here the hearth was still clean. He gathered some shavingsand blocks together, and kindled them, and as the flame mounted gailyfrom them, he pulled up a nail-keg which he found there and sat down towatch it. Nothing could have been better; the chimney was a perfectsuccess; and as Lapham glanced out of the torn linen sash he said tohimself that that party, whoever he was, who had offered to buy hishouse might go to the devil; he would never sell it as long as he had adollar. He said that he should pull through yet; and it suddenly cameinto his mind that, if he could raise the money to buy out those WestVirginia fellows, he should be all right, and would have the whole gamein his own hand. He slapped himself on the thigh, and wondered that hehad never thought of that before; and then, lighting a cigar with asplinter from the fire, he sat down again to work the scheme out in hisown mind. He did not hear the feet heavily stamping up the stairs, andcoming towards the room where he sat; and the policeman to whom thefeet belonged had to call out to him, smoking at his chimney-corner, with his back turned to the door, "Hello! what are you doing here?"

"What's that to you?" retorted Lapham, wheeling half round on hisnail-keg. 

"I'll show you, " said the officer, advancing upon him, and thenstopping short as he recognised him. "Why, Colonel Lapham! I thoughtit was some tramp got in here!"

"Have a cigar?" said Lapham hospitably. "Sorry there ain't anothernail-keg. "

The officer took the cigar. "I'll smoke it outside. I've just comeon, and I can't stop. Tryin' your chimney?"

"Yes, I thought I'd see how it would draw, in here. It seems to gofirst-rate. "

The policeman looked about him with an eye of inspection. "You want toget that linen window, there, mended up. "

"Yes, I'll speak to the builder about that. It can go for one night. "

The policeman went to the window and failed to pin the linen togetherwhere Lapham had failed before. "I can't fix it. " He looked round oncemore, and saying, "Well, good night, " went out and down the stairs. 

Lapham remained by the fire till he had smoked his cigar; then he roseand stamped upon the embers that still burned with his heavy boots, andwent home. He was very cheerful at supper. He told his wife that heguessed he had a sure thing of it now, and in another twenty-four hourshe should tell her just how. He made Penelope go to the theatre withhim, and when they came out, after the play, the night was so fine thathe said they must walk round by the new house and take a look at it inthe starlight. He said he had been there before he came home, andtried Seymour's chimney in the music-room, and it worked like a charm. 

As they drew near Beacon Street they were aware of unwonted stir andtumult, and presently the still air transmitted a turmoil of sound, through which a powerful and incessant throbbing made itself felt. Thesky had reddened above them, and turning the corner at the PublicGarden, they saw a black mass of people obstructing the perspective ofthe brightly-lighted street, and out of this mass a half-dozen engines, whose strong heart-beats had already reached them, sent up volumes offire-tinged smoke and steam from their funnels. Ladders were plantedagainst the facade of a building, from the roof of which a mass offlame burnt smoothly upward, except where here and there it seemed topull contemptuously away from the heavy streams of water which thefiremen, clinging like great beetles to their ladders, poured in uponit. 

Lapham had no need to walk down through the crowd, gazing andgossiping, with shouts and cries and hysterical laughter, before theburning house, to make sure that it was his. 

"I guess I done it, Pen, " was all he said. 

Among the people who were looking at it were a party who seemed to haverun out from dinner in some neighbouring house; the ladies werefantastically wrapped up, as if they had flung on the first things theycould seize. 

"Isn't it perfectly magnificent!" cried a pretty girl. "I wouldn'thave missed it on any account. Thank you so much, Mr. Symington, forbringing us out!"

"Ah, I thought you'd like it, " said this Mr. Symington, who must havebeen the host; "and you can enjoy it without the least compunction, Miss Delano, for I happen to know that the house belongs to a man whocould afford to burn one up for you once a year. "

"Oh, do you think he would, if I came again?"

"I haven't the least doubt of it. We don't do things by halves inBoston. "

"He ought to have had a coat of his noncombustible paint on it, " saidanother gentleman of the party. 

Penelope pulled her father away toward the first carriage she couldreach of a number that had driven up. "Here, father! get into this. "

"No, no; I couldn't ride, " he answered heavily, and he walked home insilence. He greeted his wife with, "Well, Persis, our house is gone!And I guess I set it on fire myself;" and while he rummaged among thepapers in his desk, still with his coat and hat on, his wife got thefacts as she could from Penelope. She did not reproach him. Here wasa case in which his self-reproach must be sufficiently sharp withoutany edge from her. Besides, her mind was full of a terrible thought. 

"O Silas, " she faltered, "they'll think you set it on fire to get theinsurance!"

Lapham was staring at a paper which he held in his hand. "I had abuilder's risk on it, but it expired last week. It's a dead loss. "

"Oh, thank the merciful Lord!" cried his wife. 

"Merciful!" said Lapham. "Well, it's a queer way of showing it. "

He went to bed, and fell into the deep sleep which sometimes follows agreat moral shock. It was perhaps rather a torpor than a sleep. 

XXV. 

LAPHAM awoke confused, and in a kind of remoteness from the loss of thenight before, through which it loomed mistily. But before he liftedhis head from the pillow, it gathered substance and weight againstwhich it needed all his will to bear up and live. In that moment hewished that he had not wakened, that he might never have wakened; buthe rose, and faced the day and its cares. 

The morning papers brought the report of the fire, and the conjecturedloss. The reporters somehow had found out the fact that the loss fellentirely upon Lapham; they lighted up the hackneyed character of theirstatements with the picturesque interest OF the coincidence that thepolicy had expired only the week before; heaven knows how they knew it. They said that nothing remained of the building but the walls; andLapham, on his way to business, walked up past the smoke-stained shell. The windows looked like the eye-sockets of a skull down upon theblackened and trampled snow of the street; the pavement was a sheet ofice, and the water from the engines had frozen, like streams of tears, down the face of the house, and hung in icy tags from the window-sillsand copings. 

He gathered himself up as well as he could, and went on to his office. The chance of retrieval that had flashed upon him, as he sat smoking bythat ruined hearth the evening before, stood him in such stead now as asole hope may; and he said to himself that, having resolved not to sellhis house, he was no more crippled by its loss than he would have beenby letting his money lie idle in it; what he might have raised bymortgage on it could be made up in some other way; and if they wouldsell he could still buy out the whole business of that West Virginiacompany, mines, plant, stock on hand, good-will, and everything, andunite it with his own. He went early in the afternoon to seeBellingham, whose expressions of condolence for his loss he cut shortwith as much politeness as he knew how to throw into his impatience. Bellingham seemed at first a little dazzled with the splendid courageof his scheme; it was certainly fine in its way; but then he began tohave his misgivings. 

"I happen to know that they haven't got much money behind them, " urgedLapham. "They'll jump at an offer. "

Bellingham shook his head. "If they can show profit on the oldmanufacture, and prove they can make their paint still cheaper andbetter hereafter, they can have all the money they want. And it willbe very difficult for you to raise it if you're threatened by them. With that competition, you know what your plant at Lapham would beworth, and what the shrinkage on your manufactured stock would be. Better sell out to them, " he concluded, "if they will buy. "

"There ain't money enough in this country to buy out my paint, " saidLapham, buttoning up his coat in a quiver of resentment. "Goodafternoon, sir. " Men are but grown-up boys after all. Bellinghamwatched this perversely proud and obstinate child fling petulantly outof his door, and felt a sympathy for him which was as truly kind as itwas helpless. 

But Lapham was beginning to see through Bellingham, as he believed. Bellingham was, in his way, part of that conspiracy by which Lapham'screditors were trying to drive him to the wall. More than ever now hewas glad that he had nothing to do with that cold-hearted, self-conceited race, and that the favours so far were all from hisside. He was more than ever determined to show them, every one ofthem, high and low, that he and his children could get along withoutthem, and prosper and triumph without them. He said to himself that ifPenelope were engaged to Corey that very minute, he would make herbreak with him. 

He knew what he should do now, and he was going to do it without lossof time. He was going on to New York to see those West Virginiapeople; they had their principal office there, and he intended to getat their ideas, and then he intended to make them an offer. He managedthis business better than could possibly have been expected of a man inhis impassioned mood. But when it came really to business, hispractical instincts, alert and wary, came to his aid against thepassions that lay in wait to betray after they ceased to dominate him. He found the West Virginians full of zeal and hope, but in ten minuteshe knew that they had not yet tested their strength in the moneymarket, and had not ascertained how much or how little capital theycould command. Lapham himself, if he had had so much, would not havehesitated to put a million dollars into their business. He saw, asthey did not see, that they had the game in their own hands, and thatif they could raise the money to extend their business, they could ruinhim. It was only a question of time, and he was on the ground first. He frankly proposed a union of their interests. He admitted that theyhad a good thing, and that he should have to fight them hard; but hemeant to fight them to the death unless they could come to some sort ofterms. Now, the question was whether they had better go on and make aheavy loss for both sides by competition, or whether they had betterform a partnership to run both paints and command the whole market. Lapham made them three propositions, each of which was fair and open:to sell out to them altogether; to buy them out altogether; to joinfacilities and forces with them, and go on in an invulnerable alliance. Let them name a figure at which they would buy, a figure at which theywould sell, a figure at which they would combine, --or, in other words, the amount of capital they needed. 

They talked all day, going out to lunch together at the Astor House, and sitting with their knees against the counter on a row of stoolsbefore it for fifteen minutes of reflection and deglutition, with theirhats on, and then returning to the basement from which they emerged. The West Virginia company's name was lettered in gilt on the wide lowwindow, and its paint, in the form of ore, burnt, and mixed, formed adisplay on the window shelf Lapham examined it and praised it; fromtime to time they all recurred to it together; they sent out for someof Lapham's paint and compared it, the West Virginians admitting itsformer superiority. They were young fellows, and country persons, likeLapham, by origin, and they looked out with the same amused, undauntedprovincial eyes at the myriad metropolitan legs passing on the pavementabove the level of their window. He got on well with them. At last, they said what they would do. They said it was nonsense to talk ofbuying Lapham out, for they had not the money; and as for selling out, they would not do it, for they knew they had a big thing. But theywould as soon use his capital to develop it as anybody else's, and ifhe could put in a certain sum for this purpose, they would go in withhim. He should run the works at Lapham and manage the business inBoston, and they would run the works at Kanawha Falls and manage thebusiness in New York. The two brothers with whom Lapham talked namedtheir figure, subject to the approval of another brother at KanawhaFalls, to whom they would write, and who would telegraph his answer, sothat Lapham could have it inside of three days. But they feltperfectly sure that he would approve; and Lapham started back on theeleven o'clock train with an elation that gradually left him as he drewnear Boston, where the difficulties of raising this sum were to be overcome. It seemed to him, then, that those fellows had put it up on himpretty steep, but he owned to himself that they had a sure thing, andthat they were right in believing they could raise the same sumelsewhere; it would take all OF it, he admitted, to make their paintpay on the scale they had the right to expect. At their age, he wouldnot have done differently; but when he emerged, old, sore, andsleep-broken, from the sleeping-car in the Albany depot at Boston, hewished with a pathetic self-pity that they knew how a man felt at hisage. A year ago, six months ago, he would have laughed at the notionthat it would be hard to raise the money. But he thought ruefully ofthat immense stock of paint on hand, which was now a drug in themarket, of his losses by Rogers and by the failures of other men, ofthe fire that had licked up so many thousands in a few hours; hethought with bitterness of the tens of thousands that he had gambledaway in stocks, and of the commissions that the brokers had pocketedwhether he won or lost; and he could not think of any securities onwhich he could borrow, except his house in Nankeen Square, or the mineand works at Lapham. He set his teeth in helpless rage when he thoughtof that property out on the G. L. & P. , that ought to be worth so much, and was worth so little if the Road chose to say so. 

He did not go home, but spent most of the day shining round, as hewould have expressed it, and trying to see if he could raise the money. But he found that people of whom he hoped to get it were in theconspiracy which had been formed to drive him to the wall. Somehow, there seemed a sense of his embarrassments abroad. Nobody wanted tolend money on the plant at Lapham without taking time to look into thestate of the business; but Lapham had no time to give, and he knew thatthe state of the business would not bear looking into. He could raisefifteen thousand on his Nankeen Square house, and another fifteen onhis Beacon Street lot, and this was all that a man who was worth amillion by rights could do! He said a million, and he said it indefiance of Bellingham, who had subjected his figures to an analysiswhich wounded Lapham more than he chose to show at the time, for itproved that he was not so rich and not so wise as he had seemed. Hishurt vanity forbade him to go to Bellingham now for help or advice; andif he could have brought himself to ask his brothers for money, itwould have been useless; they were simply well-to-do Western people, but not capitalists on the scale he required. 

Lapham stood in the isolation to which adversity so often seems tobring men. When its test was applied, practically or theoretically, toall those who had seemed his friends, there was none who bore it; andhe thought with bitter self-contempt of the people whom he hadbefriended in their time of need. He said to himself that he had beena fool for that; and he scorned himself for certain acts ofscrupulosity by which he had lost money in the past. Seeing the moralforces all arrayed against him, Lapham said that he would like to havethe chance offered him to get even with them again; he thought heshould know how to look out for himself. As he understood it, he hadseveral days to turn about in, and he did not let one day's failuredishearten him. The morning after his return he had, in fact, a gleamof luck that gave him the greatest encouragement for the moment. A mancame in to inquire about one of Rogers's wild-cat patents, as Laphamcalled them, and ended by buying it. He got it, of course, for lessthan Lapham took it for, but Lapham was glad to be rid of it forsomething, when he had thought it worth nothing; and when thetransaction was closed, he asked the purchaser rather eagerly if heknew where Rogers was; it was Lapham's secret belief that Rogers hadfound there was money in the thing, and had sent the man to buy it. But it appeared that this was a mistake; the man had not come fromRogers, but had heard of the patent in another way; and Lapham wasastonished in the afternoon, when his boy came to tell him that Rogerswas in the outer office, and wished to speak with him. 

"All right, " said Lapham, and he could not command at once the severityfor the reception of Rogers which he would have liked to use. He foundhimself, in fact, so much relaxed towards him by the morning's touch ofprosperity that he asked him to sit down, gruffly, of course, butdistinctly; and when Rogers said in his lifeless way, and with theeffect of keeping his appointment of a month before, "Those Englishparties are in town, and would like to talk with you in reference tothe mills, " Lapham did not turn him out-of-doors. 

He sat looking at him, and trying to make out what Rogers was after;for he did not believe that the English parties, if they existed, hadany notion of buying his mills. 

"What if they are not for sale?" he asked. "You know that I've beenexpecting an offer from the G. L. & P. "

"I've kept watch of that. They haven't made you any offer, " saidRogers quietly. 

"And did you think, " demanded Lapham, firing up, "that I would turnthem in on somebody else as you turned them in on me, when the chancesare that they won't be worth ten cents on the dollar six months fromnow?"

"I didn't know what you would do, " said Rogers non-committally. "I'vecome here to tell you that these parties stand ready to take the millsoff your hands at a fair valuation--at the value I put upon them when Iturned them in. "

"I don't believe you!" cried Lapham brutally, but a wild predatory hopemade his heart leap so that it seemed to turn over in his breast. "Idon't believe there are any such parties to begin with; and in the nextplace, I don't believe they would buy at any such figure;unless--unless you've lied to them, as you've lied to me. Did you tellthem about the G. L. & P. ?"

Rogers looked compassionately at him, but he answered, with unvarieddryness, "I did not think that necessary. "

Lapham had expected this answer, and he had expected or intended tobreak out in furious denunciation of Rogers when he got it; but he onlyfound himself saying, in a sort of baffled gasp, "I wonder what yourgame is!"

Rogers did not reply categorically, but he answered, with his impartialcalm, and as if Lapham had said nothing to indicate that he differed atall with him as to disposing of the property in the way he hadsuggested: "If we should succeed in selling, I should be able to repayyou your loans, and should have a little capital for a scheme that Ithink of going into. "

"And do you think that I am going to steal these men's money to helpyou plunder somebody in a new scheme?" answered Lapham. The sneer wason behalf of virtue, but it was still a sneer. 

"I suppose the money would be useful to you too, just now. "

"Why?"

"Because I know that you have been trying to borrow. "

At this proof of wicked omniscience in Rogers, the question whether hehad better not regard the affair as a fatality, and yield to hisdestiny, flashed upon Lapham; but he answered, "I shall want money agreat deal worse than I've ever wanted it yet, before I go into suchrascally business with you. Don't you know that we might as well knockthese parties down on the street, and take the money out of theirpockets?"

"They have come on, " answered Rogers, "from Portland to see you. Iexpected them some weeks ago, but they disappointed me. They arrivedon the Circassian last night; they expected to have got in five daysago, but the passage was very stormy. "

"Where are they?" asked Lapham, with helpless irrelevance, and feelinghimself somehow drifted from his moorings by Rogers's shippingintelligence. 

"They are at Young's. I told them we would call upon them after dinnerthis evening; they dine late. "

"Oh, you did, did you?" asked Lapham, trying to drop another anchor fora fresh clutch on his underlying principles. "Well, now, you go andtell them that I said I wouldn't come. "

"Their stay is limited, " remarked Rogers. "I mentioned this eveningbecause they were not certain they could remain over another night. But if to-morrow would suit you better----"

"Tell 'em I shan't come at all, " roared Lapham, as much in terror asdefiance, for he felt his anchor dragging. "Tell 'em I shan't come atall! Do you understand that?"

"I don't see why you should stickle as to the matter of going to them, "said Rogers; "but if you think it will be better to have them approachyou, I suppose I can bring them to you. "

"No, you can't! I shan't let you! I shan't see them! I shan't haveanything to do with them. NOW do you understand?"

"I inferred from our last interview, " persisted Rogers, unmoved by allthis violent demonstration of Lapham's, "that you wished to meet theseparties. You told me that you would give me time to produce them; andI have promised them that you would meet them; I have committed myself. "

It was true that Lapham had defied Rogers to bring on his men, and hadimplied his willingness to negotiate with them. That was before he hadtalked the matter over with his wife, and perceived his moralresponsibility in it; even she had not seen this at once. He could notenter into this explanation with Rogers; he could only say, "I said I'dgive you twenty-four hours to prove yourself a liar, and you did it. Ididn't say twenty-four days. "

"I don't see the difference, " returned Rogers. "The parties are herenow, and that proves that I was acting in good faith at the time. There has been no change in the posture of affairs. You don't know nowany more than you knew then that the G. L. & P. Is going to want theproperty. If there's any difference, it's in favour of the Road'shaving changed its mind. "

There was some sense in this, and Lapham felt it--felt it only tooeagerly, as he recognised the next instant. 

Rogers went on quietly: "You're not obliged to sell to these partieswhen you meet them; but you've allowed me to commit myself to them bythe promise that you would talk with them. "

"'Twan't a promise, " said Lapham. 

"It was the same thing; they have come out from England on my guarantythat there was such and such an opening for their capital; and now whatam I to say to them? It places me in a ridiculous position. " Rogersurged his grievance calmly, almost impersonally, making his appeal toLapham's sense of justice. "I CAN'T go back to those parties and tellthem you won't see them. It's no answer to make. They've got a rightto know why you won't see them. "

"Very well, then!" cried Lapham; "I'll come and TELL them why. Whoshall I ask for? When shall I be there?"

"At eight o'clock, please, " said Rogers, rising, without apparent alarmat his threat, if it was a threat. "And ask for me; I've taken a roomat the hotel for the present. "

"I won't keep you five minutes when I get there, " said Lapham; but hedid not come away till ten o'clock. 

It appeared to him as if the very devil was in it. The Englishmentreated his downright refusal to sell as a piece of bluff, and talkedon as though it were merely the opening of the negotiation. When hebecame plain with them in his anger, and told them why he would notsell, they seemed to have been prepared for this as a stroke ofbusiness, and were ready to meet it. 

"Has this fellow, " he demanded, twisting his head in the direction ofRogers, but disdaining to notice him otherwise, "been telling you thatit's part of my game to say this? Well, sir, I can tell you, on myside, that there isn't a slipperier rascal unhung in America thanMilton K. Rogers!"

The Englishmen treated this as a piece of genuine American humour, andreturned to the charge with unabated courage. They owned now, that aperson interested with them had been out to look at the property, andthat they were satisfied with the appearance of things. They developedfurther the fact that they were not acting solely, or even principally, in their own behalf, but were the agents of people in England who hadprojected the colonisation of a sort of community on the spot, somewhatafter the plan of other English dreamers, and that they were satisfied, from a careful inspection, that the resources and facilities were thosebest calculated to develop the energy and enterprise of the proposedcommunity. They were prepared to meet Mr. Lapham--Colonel, they beggedhis pardon, at the instance of Rogers--at any reasonable figure, andwere quite willing to assume the risks he had pointed out. Somethingin the eyes of these men, something that lurked at an infinite depthbelow their speech, and was not really in their eyes when Lapham lookedagain, had flashed through him a sense of treachery in them. He hadthought them the dupes of Rogers; but in that brief instant he had seenthem--or thought he had seen them--his accomplices, ready to betray theinterests of which they went on to speak with a certain comfortablejocosity, and a certain incredulous slight of his show of integrity. It was a deeper game than Lapham was used to, and he sat looking with asort of admiration from one Englishman to the other, and then toRogers, who maintained an exterior of modest neutrality, and whose airsaid, "I have brought you gentlemen together as the friend of allparties, and I now leave you to settle it among yourselves. I asknothing, and expect nothing, except the small sum which shall accrue tome after the discharge of my obligations to Colonel Lapham. "

While Rogers's presence expressed this, one of the Englishmen wassaying, "And if you have any scruple in allowin' us to assume thisrisk, Colonel Lapham, perhaps you can console yourself with the factthat the loss, if there is to be any, will fall upon people who areable to bear it--upon an association of rich and charitable people. But we're quite satisfied there will be no loss, " he added savingly. "All you have to do is to name your price, and we will do our best tomeet it. "

There was nothing in the Englishman's sophistry very shocking toLapham. It addressed itself in him to that easy-going, not evillyintentioned, potential immorality which regards common property ascommon prey, and gives us the most corrupt municipal governments underthe sun--which makes the poorest voter, when he has tricked into place, as unscrupulous in regard to others' money as an hereditary prince. Lapham met the Englishman's eye, and with difficulty kept himself fromwinking. Then he looked away, and tried to find out where he stood, orwhat he wanted to do. He could hardly tell. He had expected to comeinto that room and unmask Rogers, and have it over. But he hadunmasked Rogers without any effect whatever, and the play had onlybegun. He had a whimsical and sarcastic sense of its being verydifferent from the plays at the theatre. He could not get up and goaway in silent contempt; he could not tell the Englishmen that hebelieved them a pair of scoundrels and should have nothing to do withthem; he could no longer treat them as innocent dupes. He remainedbaffled and perplexed, and the one who had not spoken hithertoremarked--

"Of course we shan't 'aggle about a few pound, more or less. IfColonel Lapham's figure should be a little larger than ours, I've nodoubt 'e'll not be too 'ard upon us in the end. "

Lapham appreciated all the intent of this subtle suggestion, andunderstood as plainly as if it had been said in so many words, that ifthey paid him a larger price, it was to be expected that a certainportion of the purchase-money was to return to their own hands. Stillhe could not move; and it seemed to him that he could not speak. 

"Ring that bell, Mr. Rogers, " said the Englishman who had last spoken, glancing at the annunciator button in the wall near Rogers's head, "and'ave up something 'of, can't you? I should like TO wet me w'istle, asyou say 'ere, and Colonel Lapham seems to find it rather dry work. "

Lapham jumped to his feet, and buttoned his overcoat about him. Heremembered with terror the dinner at Corey's where he had disgraced andbetrayed himself, and if he went into this thing at all, he was goinginto it sober. "I can't stop, " he said, "I must be going. "

"But you haven't given us an answer yet, Mr. Lapham, " said the firstEnglishman with a successful show of dignified surprise. 

"The only answer I can give you now is, NO, " said Lapham. "If you wantanother, you must let me have time to think it over. "

"But 'ow much time?" said the other Englishman. "We're pressed fortime ourselves, and we hoped for an answer--'oped for a hanswer, " hecorrected himself, "at once. That was our understandin' with Mr. Rogers. "

"I can't let you know till morning, anyway, " said Lapham, and he wentout, as his custom often was, without any parting salutation. Hethought Rogers might try to detain him; but Rogers had remained seatedwhen the others got to their feet, and paid no attention to hisdeparture. 

He walked out into the night air, every pulse throbbing with the strongtemptation. He knew very well those men would wait, and gladly wait, till the morning, and that the whole affair was in his hands. It madehim groan in spirit to think that it was. If he had hoped that somechance might take the decision from him, there was no such chance, inthe present or future, that he could see. It was for him alone tocommit this rascality--if it was a rascality--or not. 

He walked all the way home, letting one car after another pass him onthe street, now so empty of other passing, and it was almost eleveno'clock when he reached home. A carriage stood before his house, andwhen he let himself in with his key, he heard talking in thefamily-room. It came into his head that Irene had got backunexpectedly, and that the sight of her was somehow going to make itharder for him; then he thought it might be Corey, come upon somedesperate pretext to see Penelope; but when he opened the door he saw, with a certain absence of surprise, that it was Rogers. He wasstanding with his back to the fireplace, talking to Mrs. Lapham, and hehad been shedding tears; dry tears they seemed, and they had left asort of sandy, glistening trace on his cheeks. Apparently he was notashamed of them, for the expression with which he met Lapham was thatof a man making a desperate appeal in his own cause, which wasidentical with that of humanity, if not that of justice. 

"I some expected, " began Rogers, "to find you here----"

"No, you didn't, " interrupted Lapham; "you wanted to come here and makea poor mouth to Mrs. Lapham before I got home. "

"I knew that Mrs. Lapham would know what was going on, " said Rogersmore candidly, but not more virtuously, for that he could not, "and Iwished her to understand a point that I hadn't put to you at the hotel, and that I want you should consider. And I want you should consider mea little in this business too; you're not the only one that'sconcerned, I tell you, and I've been telling Mrs. Lapham that it's myone chance; that if you don't meet me on it, my wife and children willbe reduced to beggary. "

"So will mine, " said Lapham, "or the next thing to it. "

"Well, then, I want you to give me this chance to get on my feet again. You've no right to deprive me of it; it's unchristian. In our dealingswith each other we should be guided by the Golden Rule, as I was sayingto Mrs. Lapham before you came in. I told her that if I knew myself, Ishould in your place consider the circumstances of a man in mine, whohad honourably endeavoured to discharge his obligations to me, and hadpatiently borne my undeserved suspicions. I should consider that man'sfamily, I told Mrs. Lapham. "

"Did you tell her that if I went in with you and those fellows, Ishould be robbing the people who trusted them?"

"I don't see what you've got to do with the people that sent them here. They are rich people, and could bear it if it came to the worst. Butthere's no likelihood, now, that it will come to the worst; you can seeyourself that the Road has changed its mind about buying. And here amI without a cent in the world; and my wife is an invalid. She needscomforts, she needs little luxuries, and she hasn't even thenecessaries; and you want to sacrifice her to a mere idea! You don'tknow in the first place that the Road will ever want to buy; and if itdoes, the probability is that with a colony like that planted on itsline, it would make very different terms from what it would with you orme. These agents are not afraid, and their principals are rich people;and if there was any loss, it would be divided up amongst them so thatthey wouldn't any of them feel it. "

Lapham stole a troubled glance at his wife, and saw that there was nohelp in her. Whether she was daunted and confused in her ownconscience by the outcome, so evil and disastrous, of the reparation toRogers which she had forced her husband to make, or whether herperceptions had been blunted and darkened by the appeals which Rogershad now used, it would be difficult to say. Probably there was amixture of both causes in the effect which her husband felt in her, andfrom which he turned, girding himself anew, to Rogers. 

"I have no wish to recur to the past, " continued Rogers, with growingsuperiority. "You have shown a proper spirit in regard to that, andyou have done what you could to wipe it out. "

"I should think I had, " said Lapham. "I've used up about a hundred andfifty thousand dollars trying. "

"Some of my enterprises, " Rogers admitted, "have been unfortunate, seemingly; but I have hopes that they will yet turn out well--in time. I can't understand why you should be so mindful of others now, when youshowed so little regard for me then. I had come to your aid at a timewhen you needed help, and when you got on your feet you kicked me outof the business. I don't complain, but that is the fact; and I had tobegin again, after I had supposed myself settled in life, and establishmyself elsewhere. "

Lapham glanced again at his wife; her head had fallen; he could seethat she was so rooted in her old remorse for that questionable act ofhis, amply and more than fully atoned for since, that she was helpless, now in the crucial moment, when he had the utmost need of her insight. He had counted upon her; he perceived now that when he had thought itwas for him alone to decide, he had counted upon her just spirit tostay his own in its struggle to be just. He had not forgotten how sheheld out against him only a little while ago, when he asked her whetherhe might not rightfully sell in some such contingency as this; and itwas not now that she said or even looked anything in favour of Rogers, but that she was silent against him, which dismayed Lapham. Heswallowed the lump that rose in his throat, the self-pity, the pity forher, the despair, and said gently, "I guess you better go to bed, Persis. It's pretty late. "

She turned towards the door, when Rogers said, with the obviousintention of detaining her through her curiosity--

"But I let that pass. And I don't ask now that you should sell tothese men. "

Mrs. Lapham paused, irresolute. 

"What are you making this bother for, then?" demanded Lapham. "What DOyou want?"

"What I've been telling your wife here. I want you should sell to me. I don't say what I'm going to do with the property, and you will nothave an iota of responsibility, whatever happens. "

Lapham was staggered, and he saw his wife's face light up with eagerquestion. 

"I want that property, " continued Rogers, "and I've got the money tobuy it. What will you take for it? If it's the price you're standingout for----"

"Persis, " said Lapham, "go to bed, " and he gave her a look that meantobedience for her. She went out of the door, and left him with histempter. 

"If you think I'm going to help you whip the devil round the stump, you're mistaken in your man, Milton Rogers, " said Lapham, lighting acigar. "As soon as I sold to you, you would sell to that other pair ofrascals. I smelt 'em out in half a minute. "

"They are Christian gentlemen, " said Rogers. "But I don't purposedefending them; and I don't purpose telling you what I shall or shallnot do with the property when it is in my hands again. The questionis, Will you sell, and, if so, what is your figure? You have gotnothing whatever to do with it after you've sold. "

It was perfectly true. Any lawyer would have told him the same. Hecould not help admiring Rogers for his ingenuity, and every selfishinterest of his nature joined with many obvious duties to urge him toconsent. He did not see why he should refuse. There was no longer areason. He was standing out alone for nothing, any one else would say. He smoked on as if Rogers were not there, and Rogers remained beforethe fire as patient as the clock ticking behind his head on the mantel, and showing the gleam of its pendulum beyond his face on either side. But at last he said, "Well?"

"Well, " answered Lapham, "you can't expect me to give you an answerto-night, any more than before. You know that what you've said nowhasn't changed the thing a bit. I wish it had. The Lord knows, I wantto be rid of the property fast enough. " "Then why don't you sell to me?Can't you see that you will not be responsible for what happens afteryou have sold?"

"No, I can't see that; but if I can by morning, I'll sell. "

"Why do you expect to know any better by morning? You're wasting timefor nothing!" cried Rogers, in his disappointment. "Why are you soparticular? When you drove me out of the business you were not so veryparticular. "

Lapham winced. It was certainly ridiculous for man who had once soselfishly consulted his own interests to be stickling now about therights of others. 

"I guess nothing's going to happen overnight, " he answered sullenly. "Anyway, I shan't say what I shall do till morning. "

"What time can I see you in the morning?"

"Half-past nine. "

Rogers buttoned his coat, and went out of the room without anotherword. Lapham followed him to close the street-door after him. 

His wife called down to him from above as he approached the room again, "Well?"

"I've told him I'd let him know in the morning. "

"Want I should come down and talk with you?"

"No, " answered Lapham, in the proud bitterness which his isolationbrought, "you couldn't do any good. " He went in and shut the door, andby and by his wife heard him begin walking up and down; and then therest of the night she lay awake and listened to him walking up anddown. But when the first light whitened the window, the words of theScripture came into her mind: "And there wrestled a man with him untilthe breaking of the day. .. . And he said, Let me go, for the daybreaketh. And he said, I will not let thee go, except thou bless me. "

She could not ask him anything when they met, but he raised his dulleyes after the first silence, and said, "I don't know what I'm going tosay to Rogers. "

She could not speak; she did not know what to say, and she saw herhusband when she followed him with her eyes from the window, dragheavily down toward the corner, where he was to take, the horse-car. 

He arrived rather later than usual at his office, and he found hisletters already on his table. There was one, long andofficial-looking, with a printed letter-heading on the outside, andLapham had no need to open it in order to know that it was the offer ofthe Great Lacustrine & Polar Railroad for his mills. But he wentmechanically through the verification of his prophetic fear, which wasalso his sole hope, and then sat looking blankly at it. 

Rogers came promptly at the appointed time, and Lapham handed him theletter. He must have taken it all in at a glance, and seen theimpossibility of negotiating any further now, even with victims sopliant and willing as those Englishmen. 

"You've ruined me!" Rogers broke out. "I haven't a cent left in theworld! God help my poor wife!"

He went out, and Lapham remained staring at the door which closed uponhim. This was his reward for standing firm for right and justice tohis own destruction: to feel like a thief and a murderer. 

XXVI. 

LATER in the forenoon came the despatch from the West Virginians in NewYork, saying their brother assented to their agreement; and it nowremained for Lapham to fulfil his part of it. He was ludicrously farfrom able to do this; and unless he could get some extension of timefrom them, he must lose this chance, his only chance, to retrievehimself. He spent the time in a desperate endeavour to raise themoney, but he had not raised the half of it when the banks closed. With shame in his heart he went to Bellingham, from whom he had partedso haughtily, and laid his plan before him. He could not bring himselfto ask Bellingham's help, but he told him what he proposed to do. Bellingham pointed out that the whole thing was an experiment, and thatthe price asked was enormous, unless a great success were morallycertain. He advised delay, he advised prudence; he insisted thatLapham ought at least to go out to Kanawha Falls, and see the mines andworks before he put any such sum into the development of the enterprise. 

"That's all well enough, " cried Lapham; "but if I don't clinch thisoffer within twenty-four hours, they'll withdraw it, and go into themarket; and then where am I?"

"Go on and see them again, " said Bellingham. "They can't be soperemptory as that with you. They must give you time to look at whatthey want to sell. If it turns out what you hope, then--I'll see whatcan be done. But look into it thoroughly. "

"Well!" cried Lapham, helplessly submitting. He took out his watch, and saw that he had forty minutes to catch the four o'clock train. Hehurried back to his office, and put together some papers preparatory togoing, and despatched a note by his boy to Mrs. Lapham saying that hewas starting for New York, and did not know just when he should getback. 

The early spring day was raw and cold. As he went out through theoffice he saw the clerks at work with their street-coats and hats on;Miss Dewey had her jacket dragged up on her shoulders, and lookedparticularly comfortless as she operated her machine with her redfingers. "What's up?" asked Lapham, stopping a moment. 

"Seems to be something the matter with the steam, " she answered, withthe air of unmerited wrong habitual with so many pretty women who haveto work for a living. 

"Well, take your writer into my room. There's a fire in the stovethere, " said Lapham, passing out. 

Half an hour later his wife came into the outer office. She had passedthe day in a passion of self-reproach, gradually mounting from themental numbness in which he had left her, and now she could wait nolonger to tell him that she saw how she had forsaken him in his hour oftrial and left him to bear it alone. She wondered at herself in shameand dismay; she wondered that she could have been so confused as to thereal point by that old wretch of a Rogers, that she could have let himhoodwink her so, even for a moment. It astounded her that such a thingshould have happened, for if there was any virtue upon which this goodwoman prided herself, in which she thought herself superior to herhusband, it was her instant and steadfast perception of right andwrong, and the ability to choose the right to her own hurt. But shehad now to confess, as each of us has had likewise to confess in hisown case, that the very virtue on which she had prided herself was thething that had played her false; that she had kept her mind so longupon that old wrong which she believed her husband had done this manthat she could not detach it, but clung to the thought of reparationfor it when she ought to have seen that he was proposing a piece ofroguery as the means. The suffering which Lapham must inflict on himif he decided against him had been more to her apprehension than theharm he might do if he decided for him. But now she owned herlimitations to herself, and above everything in the world she wishedthe man whom her conscience had roused and driven on whither herintelligence had not followed, to do right, to do what he felt to beright, and nothing else. She admired and revered him for going beyondher, and she wished to tell him that she did not know what he haddetermined to do about Rogers, but that she knew it was right, andwould gladly abide the consequences with him, whatever they were. 

She had not been near his place of business for nearly a year, and herheart smote her tenderly as she looked about her there, and thought ofthe early days when she knew as much about the paint as he did; shewished that those days were back again. She saw Corey at his desk, andshe could not bear to speak to him; she dropped her veil that she neednot recognise him, and pushed on to Lapham's room, and opening the doorwithout knocking, shut it behind her. 

Then she became aware with intolerable disappointment that her husbandwas not there. Instead, a very pretty girl sat at his desk, operatinga typewriter. She seemed quite at home, and she paid Mrs. Lapham thescant attention which such young women often bestow upon people notpersonally interesting to them. It vexed the wife that any one elseshould seem to be helping her husband about business that she had oncebeen so intimate with; and she did not at all like the girl'sindifference to her presence. Her hat and sack hung on a nail in onecorner, and Lapham's office coat, looking intensely like him to hiswife's familiar eye, hung on a nail in the other corner; and Mrs. Lapham liked even less than the girl's good looks this domestication ofher garments in her husband's office. She began to ask herselfexcitedly why he should be away from his office when she happened tocome; and she had not the strength at the moment to reason herself outof her unreasonableness. 

"When will Colonel Lapham be in, do you suppose?" she sharply asked ofthe girl. 

"I couldn't say exactly, " replied the girl, without looking round. 

"Has he been out long?"

"I don't know as I noticed, " said the girl, looking up at the clock, without looking at Mrs. Lapham. She went on working her machine. 

"Well, I can't wait any longer, " said the wife abruptly. "When ColonelLapham comes in, you please tell him Mrs. Lapham wants to see him. "

The girl started to her feet and turned toward Mrs. Lapham with a redand startled face, which she did not lift to confront her. "Yes--yes--I will, " she faltered. 

The wife went home with a sense of defeat mixed with an irritationabout this girl which she could not quell or account for. She foundher husband's message, and it seemed intolerable that he should havegone to New York without seeing her; she asked herself in vain what themysterious business could be that took him away so suddenly. She saidto herself that he was neglecting her; he was leaving her out a littletoo much; and in demanding of herself why he had never mentioned thatgirl there in his office, she forgot how much she had left herself outof his business life. That was another curse of their prosperity. Well, she was glad the prosperity was going; it had never beenhappiness. After this she was going to know everything as she used. 

She tried to dismiss the whole matter till Lapham returned; and ifthere had been anything for her to do in that miserable house, as shecalled it in her thought, she might have succeeded. But again thecurse was on her; there was nothing to do; and the looks of that girlkept coming back to her vacancy, her disoccupation. She tried to makeherself something to do, but that beauty, which she had not liked, followed her amid the work of overhauling the summer clothing, whichIrene had seen to putting away in the fall. Who was the thing, anyway?It was very strange, her being there; why did she jump up in thatfrightened way when Mrs. Lapham had named herself?

After dark, that evening, when the question had worn away its poignancyfrom mere iteration, a note for Mrs. Lapham was left at the door by amessenger who said there was no answer. "A note for me?" she said, staring at the unknown, and somehow artificial-looking, handwriting ofthe superscription. Then she opened it and read: "Ask your husbandabout his lady copying-clerk. A Friend and Well-wisher, " who signedthe note, gave no other name. 

Mrs. Lapham sat helpless with it in her hand. Her brain reeled; shetried to fight the madness off; but before Lapham came back the secondmorning, it had become, with lessening intervals of sanity and release, a demoniacal possession. She passed the night without sleep, withoutrest, in the frenzy of the cruellest of the passions, which covers withshame the unhappy soul it possesses, and murderously lusts for themisery of its object. If she had known where to find her husband inNew York, she would have followed him; she waited his return in anecstasy of impatience. In the morning he came back, looking spent andhaggard. She saw him drive up to the door, and she ran to let him inherself. 

"Who is that girl you've got in your office, Silas Lapham?" shedemanded, when her husband entered. 

"Girl in my office?"

"Yes! Who is she? What is she doing there?"

"Why, what have you heard about her?"

"Never you mind what I've heard. Who is she? IS IT MRS. M. THAT YOUGAVE THAT MONEY TO? I want to know who she is! I want to know what arespectable man, with grown-up girls of his own, is doing with such alooking thing as that in his office? I want to know how long she's beenthere? I want to know what she's there at all for?"

He had mechanically pushed her before him into the long, darkenedparlour, and he shut himself in there with her now, to keep thehousehold from hearing her lifted voice. For a while he stoodbewildered, and could not have answered if he would, and then he wouldnot. He merely asked, "Have I ever accused you of anything wrong, Persis?"

"You no need to!" she answered furiously, placing herself against theclosed door. 

"Did you ever know me to do anything out of the way?"

"That isn't what I asked you. "

"Well, I guess you may find out about that girl yourself. Get awayfrom the door. "

"I won't get away from the door. "

She felt herself set lightly aside, and her husband opened the door andwent out. "I WILL find out about her, " she screamed after him. "I'llfind out, and I'll disgrace you. I'll teach you how to treat me----"

The air blackened round her: she reeled to the sofa and then she foundherself waking from a faint. She did not know how long she had lainthere, she did not care. In a moment her madness came whirling backupon her. She rushed up to his room; it was empty; the closet-doorsstood ajar and the drawers were open; he must have packed a bag hastilyand fled. She went out and wandered crazily up and down till she founda hack. She gave the driver her husband's business address, and toldhim to drive there as fast as he could; and three times she lowered thewindow to put her head out and ask him if he could not hurry. Athousand things thronged into her mind to support her in her evil will. She remembered how glad and proud that man had been to marry her, andhow everybody said she was marrying beneath her when she took him. Sheremembered how good she had always been to him, how perfectly devoted, slaving early and late to advance him, and looking out for hisinterests in all things, and sparing herself in nothing. If it had notbeen for her, he might have been driving stage yet; and since theirtroubles had begun, the troubles which his own folly and imprudence hadbrought on them, her conduct had been that of a true and faithful wife. Was HE the sort of man to be allowed to play her false with impunity?She set her teeth and drew her breath sharply through them when shethought how willingly she had let him befool her, and delude her aboutthat memorandum of payments to Mrs. M. , because she loved him so much, and pitied him for his cares and anxieties. She recalled hisconfusion, his guilty looks. 

She plunged out of the carriage so hastily when she reached the officethat she did not think of paying the driver; and he had to call afterher when she had got half-way up the stairs. Then she went straight toLapham's room, with outrage in her heart. There was again no one therebut that type-writer girl; she jumped to her feet in a fright, as Mrs. Lapham dashed the door to behind her and flung up her veil. 

The two women confronted each other. 

"Why, the good land!" cried Mrs. Lapham, "ain't you Zerrilla Millon?"

"I--I'm married, " faltered the girl "My name's Dewey, now. "

"You're Jim Millon's daughter, anyway. How long have you been here?"

"I haven't been here regularly; I've been here off and on ever sincelast May. "

"Where's your mother?"

"She's here--in Boston. "

Mrs. Lapham kept her eyes on the girl, but she dropped, trembling, intoher husband's chair, and a sort of amaze and curiosity were in hervoice instead of the fury she had meant to put there. 

"The Colonel, " continued Zerrilla, "he's been helping us, and he's gotme a type-writer, so that I can help myself a little. Mother's doingpretty well now; and when Hen isn't around we can get along. "

"That your husband?"

"I never wanted to marry him; but he promised to try to get somethingto do on shore; and mother was all for it, because he had a littleproperty then, and I thought may be I'd better. But it's turned outjust as I said and if he don't stay away long enough this time to letme get the divorce, --he's agreed to it, time and again, --I don't knowwhat we're going to do. " Zerrilla's voice fell, and the trouble whichshe could keep out of her face usually, when she was comfortably warmedand fed and prettily dressed, clouded it in the presence of asympathetic listener. "I saw it was you, when you came in the otherday, " she went on; "but you didn't seem to know me. I suppose theColonel's told you that there's a gentleman going to marry me--Mr. Wemmel's his name--as soon as I get the divorce; but sometimes I'mcompletely discouraged; it don't seem as if I ever could get it. "

Mrs. Lapham would not let her know that she was ignorant of the factattributed to her knowledge. She remained listening to Zerrilla, andpiecing out the whole history of her presence there from the facts ofthe past, and the traits of her husband's character. One of the thingsshe had always had to fight him about was that idea of his that he wasbound to take care of Jim Millon's worthless wife and her child becauseMillon had got the bullet that was meant for him. It was a perfectsuperstition of his; she could not beat it out of him; but she had madehim promise the last time he had done anything for that woman that itshould BE the last time. He had then got her a little house in one ofthe fishing ports, where she could take the sailors to board and washfor, and earn an honest living if she would keep straight. That wasfive or six years ago, and Mrs. Lapham had heard nothing of Mrs. Millonsince; she had heard quite enough of her before; and had known her idleand baddish ever since she was the worst little girl at school inLumberville, and all through her shameful girlhood, and the marrieddays which she had made so miserable to the poor fellow who had givenher his decent name and a chance to behave herself. Mrs. Lapham had nomercy on Moll Millon, and she had quarrelled often enough with herhusband for befriending her. As for the child, if the mother would putZerrilla out with some respectable family, that would be ONE thing; butas long as she kept Zerrilla with her, she was against letting herhusband do anything for either of them. He had done ten times as muchfor them now as he had any need to, and she had made him give her hissolemn word that he would do no more. She saw now that she was wrongto make him give it, and that he must have broken it again and againfor the reason that he had given when she once scolded him for throwingaway his money on that hussy--

"When I think of Jim Millon, I've got to; that's all. "

She recalled now that whenever she had brought up the subject of Mrs. Millon and her daughter, he had seemed shy of it, and had dropped itwith some guess that they were getting along now. She wondered thatshe had not thought at once of Mrs. Millon when she saw that memorandumabout Mrs. M. ; but the woman had passed so entirely out of her life, that she had never dreamt of her in connection with it. Her husbandhad deceived her, yet her heart was no longer hot against him, butrather tenderly grateful that his deceit was in this sort, and not inthat other. All cruel and shameful doubt of him went out of it. Shelooked at this beautiful girl, who had blossomed out of her knowledgesince she saw her last, and she knew that she was only a blossomedweed, of the same worthless root as her mother, and saved, if saved, from the same evil destiny, by the good of her father in her; but sofar as the girl and her mother were concerned, Mrs. Lapham knew thather husband was to blame for nothing but his wilful, wrong-headed, kind-heartedness, which her own exactions had turned into deceit. Sheremained a while, questioning the girl quietly about herself and hermother, and then, with a better mind towards Zerrilla, at least, thanshe had ever had before, she rose up and went out. There must havebeen some outer hint of the exhaustion in which the subsidence of herexcitement had left her within, for before she had reached the head ofthe stairs, Corey came towards her. 

"Can I be of any use to you, Mrs. Lapham? The Colonel was here justbefore you came in, on his way to the train. "

"Yes, --yes. I didn't know--I thought perhaps I could catch him here. But it don't matter. I wish you would let some one go with me to get acarriage, " she begged feebly. 

"I'll go with you myself, " said the young fellow, ignoring thestrangeness in her manner. He offered her his arm in the twilight ofthe staircase, and she was glad to put her trembling hand through it, and keep it there till he helped her into a hack which he found forher. He gave the driver her direction, and stood looking a littleanxiously at her. 

"I thank you; I am all right now, " she said, and he bade the man driveon. 

When she reached home she went to bed, spent with the tumult of heremotions and sick with shame and self-reproach. She understood now, asclearly as if he had told her in as many words, that if he hadbefriended those worthless jades--the Millons characterised themselvesso, even to Mrs. Lapham's remorse--secretly and in defiance of her, itwas because he dreaded her blame, which was so sharp and bitter, forwhat he could not help doing. It consoled her that he had defied her, deceived her; when he came back she should tell him that; and then itflashed upon her that she did not know where he was gone, or whether hewould ever come again. If he never came, it would be no more than shedeserved; but she sent for Penelope, and tried to give herself hopes ofescape from this just penalty. 

Lapham had not told his daughter where he was going; she had heard himpacking his bag, and had offered to help him; but he had said he coulddo it best, and had gone off, as he usually did, without taking leaveof any one. 

"What were you talking about so loud, down in the parlour, " she askedher mother, "just before he came up. Is there any new trouble?"

"No; it was nothing. "

"I couldn't tell. Once I thought you were laughing. " She went about, closing the curtains on account of her mother's headache, and doingawkwardly and imperfectly the things that Irene would have done soskilfully for her comfort. 

The day wore away to nightfall, and then Mrs. Lapham said she MUSTknow. Penelope said there was no one to ask; the clerks would all begone home, and her mother said yes, there was Mr. Corey; they couldsend and ask him; he would know. 

The girl hesitated. "Very well, " she said, then, scarcely above awhisper, and she presently laughed huskily. "Mr. Corey seems fated tocome in, somewhere. I guess it's a Providence, mother. "

She sent off a note, inquiring whether he could tell her just where herfather had expected to be that night; and the answer came quickly backthat Corey did not know, but would look up the book-keeper and inquire. This office brought him in person, an hour later, to tell Penelope thatthe Colonel was to be at Lapham that night and next day. 

"He came in from New York, in a great hurry, and rushed off as soon ashe could pack his bag, " Penelope explained, "and we hadn't a chance toask him where he was to be to-night. And mother wasn't very well, and----"

"I thought she wasn't looking well when she was at the office to-day. And so I thought I would come rather than send, " Corey explained in histurn. 

"Oh, thank you!"

"If there is anything I can do--telegraph Colonel Lapham, or anything?"

"Oh no, thank you; mother's better now. She merely wanted to be surewhere he was. "

He did not offer to go, upon this conclusion of his business, but hopedhe was not keeping her from her mother. She thanked him once again, and said no, that her mother was much better since she had had a cup oftea; and then they looked at each other, and without any apparentexchange of intelligence he remained, and at eleven o'clock he wasstill there. He was honest in saying he did not know it was so late;but he made no pretence of being sorry, and she took the blame toherself. 

"I oughtn't to have let you stay, " she said. "But with father gone, and all that trouble hanging over us----"

She was allowing him to hold her hand a moment at the door, to whichshe had followed him. 

"I'm so glad you could let me!" he said, "and I want to ask you nowwhen I may come again. But if you need me, you'll----"

A sharp pull at the door-bell outside made them start asunder, and at asign from Penelope, who knew that the maids were abed by this time, heopened it. 

"Why, Irene!" shrieked the girl. 

Irene entered with the hackman, who had driven her unheard to the door, following with her small bags, and kissed her sister with resolutecomposure. "That's all, " she said to the hackman. "I gave my checksto the expressman, " she explained to Penelope. 

Corey stood helpless. Irene turned upon him, and gave him her hand. "How do you do, Mr. Corey?" she said, with a courage that sent a thrillof admiring gratitude through him. "Where's mamma, Pen? Papa gone tobed?"

Penelope faltered out some reply embodying the facts, and Irene ran upthe stairs to her mother's room. Mrs. Lapham started up in bed at herapparition. 

"Irene Lapham. "

"Uncle William thought he ought to tell me the trouble papa was in; anddid you think I was going to stay off there junketing, while you weregoing through all this at home, and Pen acting so silly, too? You oughtto have been ashamed to let me stay so long! I started just as soon asI could pack. Did you get my despatch? I telegraphed from Springfield. But it don't matter, now. Here I am. And I don't think I need havehurried on Pen's account, " she added, with an accent prophetic of thesort of old maid she would become, if she happened not to marry. 

"Did you see him?" asked her mother. "It's the first time he's beenhere since she told him he mustn't come. "

"I guess it isn't the last time, by the looks, " said Irene, and beforeshe took off her bonnet she began to undo some of Penelope's mistakenarrangements of the room. 

At breakfast, where Corey and his mother met the next morning beforehis father and sisters came down, he told her, with embarrassment whichtold much more, that he wished now that she would go and call upon theLaphams. 

Mrs. Corey turned a little pale, but shut her lips tight and mourned insilence whatever hopes she had lately permitted herself. She answeredwith Roman fortitude: "Of course, if there's anything between you andMiss Lapham, your family ought to recognise it. "

"Yes, " said Corey. 

"You were reluctant to have me call at first, but now if the affair isgoing on----"

"It is! I hope--yes, it is!"

"Then I ought to go and see her, with your sisters; and she ought tocome here and--we ought all to see her and make the matter public. Wecan't do so too soon. It will seem as if we were ashamed if we don't. "

"Yes, you are quite right, mother, " said the young man gratefully, "andI feel how kind and good you are. I have tried to consider you in thismatter, though I don't seem to have done so; I know what your rightsare, and I wish with all my heart that I were meeting even your tastesperfectly. But I know you will like her when you come to know her. It's been very hard for her every way--about her sister, --and she'smade a great sacrifice for me. She's acted nobly. "

Mrs. Corey, whose thoughts cannot always be reported, said she was sureof it, and that all she desired was her son's happiness. 

"She's been very unwilling to consider it an engagement on thataccount, and on account of Colonel Lapham's difficulties. I shouldlike to have you go, now, for that very reason. I don't know just howserious the trouble is; but it isn't a time when we can seemindifferent. "

The logic of this was not perhaps so apparent to the glasses of fiftyas to the eyes of twenty-six; but Mrs. Corey, however she viewed it, could not allow herself to blench before the son whom she had taughtthat to want magnanimity was to be less than gentlemanly. Sheanswered, with what composure she could, "I will take your sisters, "and then she made some natural inquiries about Lapham's affairs. "Oh, I hope it will come out all right, " Corey said, with a lover's vaguesmile, and left her. When his father came down, rubbing his long handstogether, and looking aloof from all the cares of the practical world, in an artistic withdrawal, from which his eye ranged over thebreakfast-table before he sat down, Mrs. Corey told him what she andtheir son had been saying. 

He laughed, with a delicate impersonal appreciation of the predicament. "Well, Anna, you can't say but if you ever were guilty of supposingyourself porcelain, this is a just punishment of your arrogance. Hereyou are bound by the very quality on which you've prided yourself tobehave well to a bit of earthenware who is apparently in danger oflosing the gilding that rendered her tolerable. "

"We never cared for the money, " said Mrs. Corey. "You know that. "

"No; and now we can't seem to care for the loss of it. That would bestill worse. Either horn of the dilemma gores us. Well, we still havethe comfort we had in the beginning; we can't help ourselves; and weshould only make bad worse by trying. Unless we can look to Tom'sinamorata herself for help. "

Mrs. Corey shook her head so gloomily that her husband broke off withanother laugh. But at the continued trouble of her face, he said, sympathetically: "My dear, I know it's a very disagreeable affair; andI don't think either of us has failed to see that it was so from thebeginning. I have had my way of expressing my sense of it, and youyours, but we have always been of the same mind about it. We wouldboth have preferred to have Tom marry in his own set; the Laphams areabout the last set we could have wished him to marry into. They AREuncultivated people, and so far as I have seen them, I'm not able tobelieve that poverty will improve them. Still, it may. Let us hopefor the best, and let us behave as well as we know how. I'm sure YOUwill behave well, and I shall try. I'm going with you to call on MissLapham. This is a thing that can't be done by halves!"

He cut his orange in the Neapolitan manner, and ate it in quarters. 

XXVII. 

IRENE did not leave her mother in any illusion concerning her cousinWill and herself. She said they had all been as nice to her as theycould be, and when Mrs. Lapham hinted at what had been in herthoughts, --or her hopes, rather, --Irene severely snubbed the notion. She said that he was as good as engaged to a girl out there, and thathe had never dreamt of her. Her mother wondered at her severity; inthese few months the girl had toughened and hardened; she had lost allher babyish dependence and pliability; she was like iron; and here andthere she was sharpened to a cutting edge. It had been a life anddeath struggle with her; she had conquered, but she had alsonecessarily lost much. Perhaps what she had lost was not worthkeeping; but at any rate she had lost it. 

She required from her mother a strict and accurate account of herfather's affairs, so far as Mrs Lapham knew them; and she showed abusiness-like quickness in comprehending them that Penelope had neverpretended to. With her sister she ignored the past as completely as itwas possible to do; and she treated both Corey and Penelope with thejustice which their innocence of voluntary offence deserved. It was adifficult part, and she kept away from them as much as she could. Shehad been easily excused, on a plea of fatigue from her journey, whenMr. And Mrs. Corey had called the day after her arrival, and Mrs. Lapham being still unwell, Penelope received them alone. 

The girl had instinctively judged best that they should know the worstat once, and she let them have the full brunt of the drawing-room, while she was screwing her courage up to come down and see them. Shewas afterwards--months afterwards--able to report to Corey that whenshe entered the room his father was sitting with his hat on his knees, a little tilted away from the Emancipation group, as if he expected theLincoln to hit him, with that lifted hand of benediction; and that Mrs. Corey looked as if she were not sure but the Eagle pecked. But for thetime being Penelope was as nearly crazed as might be by thecomplications of her position, and received her visitors with a piteousdistraction which could not fail of touching Bromfield Corey'sItalianised sympatheticism. He was very polite and tender with her atfirst, and ended by making a joke with her, to which Peneloperesponded, in her sort. He said he hoped they parted friends, if notquite acquaintances; and she said she hoped they would be able torecognise each other if they ever met again. 

"That is what I meant by her pertness, " said Mrs Corey, when they weredriving away. 

"Was it very pert?" he queried. "The child had to answer something. "

"I would much rather she had answered nothing, under thecircumstances, " said Mrs. Corey. "However!" she added hopelessly. "Oh, she's a merry little grig, you can see that, and there's no harmin her. I can understand a little why a formal fellow like Tom shouldbe taken with her. She hasn't the least reverence, I suppose, andjoked with the young man from the beginning. You must remember, Anna, that there was a time when you liked my joking. "

"It was a very different thing!"

"But that drawing-room, " pursued Corey; "really, I don't see how Tomstands that. Anna, a terrible thought occurs to me! Fancy Tom beingmarried in front of that group, with a floral horse-shoe in tuberosescoming down on either side of it!"

"Bromfield!" cried his wife, "you are unmerciful. "

"No, no, my dear, " he argued; "merely imaginative. And I can evenimagine that little thing finding Tom just the least bit slow, attimes, if it were not for his goodness. Tom is so kind that I'mconvinced he sometimes feels your joke in his heart when his head isn'tquite clear about it. Well, we will not despond, my dear. "

"Your father seemed actually to like her, " Mrs. Corey reported to herdaughters, very much shaken in her own prejudices by the fact. If thegirl were not so offensive to his fastidiousness, there might be somehope that she was not so offensive as Mrs. Corey had thought. "Iwonder how she will strike YOU, " she concluded, looking from onedaughter to another, as if trying to decide which of them would likePenelope least. 

Irene's return and the visit of the Coreys formed a distraction for theLaphams in which their impending troubles seemed to hang further aloof;but it was only one of those reliefs which mark the course ofadversity, and it was not one of the cheerful reliefs. At any othertime, either incident would have been an anxiety and care for Mrs. Lapham which she would have found hard to bear; but now she almostwelcomed them. At the end of three days Lapham returned, and his wifemet him as if nothing unusual had marked their parting; she reservedher atonement for a fitter time; he would know now from the way sheacted that she felt all right towards him. He took very little note ofher manner, but met his family with an austere quiet that puzzled her, and a sort of pensive dignity that refined his rudeness to an effectthat sometimes comes to such natures after long sickness, when theanimal strength has been taxed and lowered. He sat silent with her atthe table after their girls had left them alone, and seeing that he didnot mean to speak, she began to explain why Irene had come home, and topraise her. 

"Yes, she done right, " said Lapham. "It was time for her to come, " headded gently. 

Then he was silent again, and his wife told him of Corey's having beenthere, and of his father's and mother's calling. "I guess Pen'sconcluded to make it up, " she said. 

"Well, we'll see about that, " said Lapham; and now she could no longerforbear to ask him about his affairs. 

"I don't know as I've got any right to know anything about it, " shesaid humbly, with remote allusion to her treatment of him. "But Ican't help wanting to know. How ARE things going, Si?"

"Bad, " he said, pushing his plate from him, and tilting himself back inhis chair. "Or they ain't going at all. They've stopped. "

"What do you mean, Si?" she persisted, tenderly. 

"I've got to the end of my string. To-morrow I shall call a meeting ofmy creditors, and put myself in their hands. If there's enough left tosatisfy them, I'm satisfied. " His voice dropped in his throat; heswallowed once or twice, and then did not speak. 

"Do you mean that it's all over with you?" she asked fearfully. 

He bowed his big head, wrinkled and grizzled; and after awhile he said, "It's hard to realise it; but I guess there ain't any doubt about it. "He drew a long breath, and then he explained to her about the WestVirginia people, and how he had got an extension of the first time theyhad given him, and had got a man to go up to Lapham with him and lookat the works, --a man that had turned up in New York, and wanted to putmoney in the business. His money would have enabled Lapham to closewith the West Virginians. "The devil was in it, right straight along, "said Lapham. "All I had to do was to keep quiet about that othercompany. It was Rogers and his property right over again. He likedthe look of things, and he wanted to go into the business, and he hadthe money--plenty; it would have saved me with those West Virginiafolks. But I had to tell him how I stood. I had to tell him all aboutit, and what I wanted to do. He began to back water in a minute, andthe next morning I saw that it was up with him. He's gone back to NewYork. I've lost my last chance. Now all I've got to do is to save thepieces. "

"Will--will--everything go?" she asked. 

"I can't tell, yet. But they shall have a chance at everything--everydollar, every cent. I'm sorry for you, Persis--and the girls. "

"Oh, don't talk of US!" She was trying to realise that the simple, rudesoul to which her heart clove in her youth, but which she had put tosuch cruel proof, with her unsparing conscience and her unsparingtongue, had been equal to its ordeals, and had come out unscathed andunstained. He was able in his talk to make so little of them; hehardly seemed to see what they were; he was apparently not proud ofthem, and certainly not glad; if they were victories of any sort, hebore them with the patience of defeat. His wife wished to praise him, but she did not know how; so she offered him a little reproach, inwhich alone she touched the cause of her behaviour at parting. "Silas, " she asked, after a long gaze at him, "why didn't you tell meyou had Jim Millon's girl there?"

"I didn't suppose you'd like it, Persis, " he answered. "I did intendto tell you at first, but then I put--I put it off. I thought you'dcome round some day, and find it out for yourself. "

"I'm punished, " said his wife, "for not taking enough interest in yourbusiness to even come near it. If we're brought back to the day ofsmall things, I guess it's a lesson for me, Silas. "

"Oh, I don't know about the lesson, " he said wearily. 

That night she showed him the anonymous scrawl which had kindled herfury against him. He turned it listlessly over in his hand. "I guessI know who it's from, " he said, giving it back to her, "and I guess youdo too, Persis. "

"But how--how could he----"

"Mebbe he believed it, " said Lapham, with patience that cut her morekeenly than any reproach. "YOU did. "

Perhaps because the process of his ruin had been so gradual, perhapsbecause the excitement of preceding events had exhausted their capacityfor emotion, the actual consummation of his bankruptcy brought arelief, a repose to Lapham and his family, rather than a freshsensation of calamity. In the shadow of his disaster they returned tosomething like their old, united life; they were at least all togetheragain; and it will be intelligible to those whom life has blessed withvicissitude, that Lapham should come home the evening after he hadgiven up everything, to his creditors, and should sit down to hissupper so cheerful that Penelope could joke him in the old way, andtell him that she thought from his looks they had concluded to pay hima hundred cents on every dollar he owed them. 

As James Bellingham had taken so much interest in his troubles from thefirst, Lapham thought he ought to tell him, before taking the finalstep, just how things stood with him, and what ho meant to do. Bellingham made some futile inquiries about his negotiations with theWest Virginians, and Lapham told him they had come to nothing. Hespoke of the New York man, and the chance that he might have sold outhalf his business to him. "But, of course, I had to let him know howit was about those fellows. "

"Of course, " said Bellingham, not seeing till afterwards the fullsignificance of Lapham's action. 

Lapham said nothing about Rogers and the Englishmen. He believed thathe had acted right in that matter, and he was satisfied; but he did notcare to have Bellingham, or anybody, perhaps, think he had been a fool. 

All those who were concerned in his affairs said he behaved well, andeven more than well, when it came to the worst. The prudence, the goodsense, which he had shown in the first years of his success, and ofwhich his great prosperity seemed to have bereft him, came back, andthese qualities, used in his own behalf, commended him as much to hiscreditors as the anxiety he showed that no one should suffer by him;this even made some of them doubtful of his sincerity. They gave himtime, and there would have been no trouble in his resuming on the oldbasis, if the ground had not been cut from under him by the competitionof the West Virginia company. He saw himself that it was useless totry to go on in the old way, and he preferred to go back and begin theworld anew where he had first begun it, in the hills at Lapham. He putthe house at Nankeen Square, with everything else he had, into thepayment of his debts, and Mrs. Lapham found it easier to leave it forthe old farmstead in Vermont than it would have been to go from thathome of many years to the new house on the water side of Beacon. Thisthing and that is embittered to us, so that we may be willing torelinquish it; the world, life itself, is embittered to most of us, sothat we are glad to have done with them at last; and this home washaunted with such memories to each of those who abandoned it that to gowas less exile than escape. Mrs. Lapham could not look into Irene'sroom without seeing the girl there before her glass, tearing the poorlittle keep-sakes of her hapless fancy from their hiding-places to takethem and fling them in passionate renunciation upon her sister; shecould not come into the sitting-room, where her little ones had grownup, without starting at the thought of her husband sitting so manyweary nights at his desk there, trying to fight his way back to hopeout of the ruin into which he was slipping. When she remembered thatnight when Rogers came, she hated the place. Irene accepted herrelease from the house eagerly, and was glad to go before and preparefor the family at Lapham. Penelope was always ashamed of herengagement there; it must seem better somewhere else and she was gladto go too. No one but Lapham in fact, felt the pang of parting in allits keenness. Whatever regret the others had was softened to them bythe likeness of their flitting to many of those removals for the summerwhich they made in the late spring when they left Nankeen Square; theywere going directly into the country instead of to the seaside first;but Lapham, who usually remained in town long after they had gone, knewall the difference. For his nerves there was no mechanical sense ofcoming back; this was as much the end of his proud, prosperous life asdeath itself could have been. He was returning to begin life anew, buthe knew as well as he knew that he should not find his vanished youthin his native hills, that it could never again be the triumph that ithad been. That was impossible, not only in his stiffened and weakenedforces, but in the very nature of things. He was going back, by graceof the man whom he owed money, to make what he could out of the onechance which his successful rivals had left him. 

In one phase his paint had held its own against bad times and ruinouscompetition, and it was with the hope of doing still more with thePersis Brand that he now set himself to work. The West Virginia peopleconfessed that they could not produce those fine grades, and theywillingly left the field to him. A strange, not ignoble friendlinessexisted between Lapham and the three brothers; they had used himfairly; it was their facilities that had conquered him, not theirill-will; and he recognised in them without enmity the necessity towhich he had yielded. If he succeeded in his efforts to develop hispaint in this direction, it must be for a long time on a small scalecompared with his former business, which it could never equal, and hebrought to them the flagging energies of an elderly man. He was morebroken than he knew by his failure; it did not kill, as it often does, but it weakened the spring once so strong and elastic. He lapsed moreand more into acquiescence with his changed condition, and thatbragging note of his was rarely sounded. He worked faithfully enoughin his enterprise, but sometimes he failed to seize occasions that inhis younger days he would have turned to golden account. His wife sawin him a daunted look that made her heart ache for him. 

One result of his friendly relations with the West Virginia people wasthat Corey went in with them, and the fact that he did so solely uponLapham's advice, and by means of his recommendation, was perhaps theColonel's proudest consolation. Corey knew the business thoroughly, and after half a year at Kanawha Falls and in the office at New York, he went out to Mexico and Central America, to see what could be donefor them upon the ground which he had theoretically studied with Lapham. 

Before he went he came up to Vermont, and urged Penelope to go withhim. He was to be first in the city of Mexico, and if his mission wassuccessful he was to be kept there and in South America several years, watching the new railroad enterprises and the development of mechanicalagriculture and whatever other undertakings offered an opening for theintroduction of the paint. They were all young men together, andCorey, who had put his money into the company, had a proprietaryinterest in the success which they were eager to achieve. 

"There's no more reason now and no less than ever there was, " musedPenelope, in counsel with her mother, "why I should say Yes, or why Ishould say No. Everything else changes, but this is just where it was ayear ago. It don't go backward, and it don't go forward. Mother, Ibelieve I shall take the bit in my teeth--if anybody will put it there!"

"It isn't the same as it was, " suggested her mother. "You can see thatIrene's all over it. "

"That's no credit to me, " said Penelope. "I ought to be just as muchashamed as ever. "

"You no need ever to be ashamed. "

"That's true, too, " said the girl. "And I can sneak off to Mexico witha good conscience if I could make up my mind to it. " She laughed. "Well, if I could be SENTENCED to be married, or somebody would up andforbid the banns! I don't know what to do about it. "

Her mother left her to carry her hesitation back to Corey, and she saidnow, they had better go all over it and try to reason it out. "And Ihope that whatever I do, it won't be for my own sake, but for--others!"

Corey said he was sure of that, and looked at her with eyes of patienttenderness. 

"I don't say it is wrong, " she proceeded, rather aimlessly, "but Ican't make it seem right. I don't know whether I can make youunderstand, but the idea of being happy, when everybody else is somiserable, is more than I can endure. It makes me wretched. "

"Then perhaps that's your share of the common suffering, " suggestedCorey, smiling. 

"Oh, you know it isn't! You know it's nothing. Oh! One of the reasonsis what I told you once before, that as long as father is in trouble Ican't let you think of me. Now that he's lost everything--?" She benther eyes inquiringly upon him, as if for the effect of this argument. 

"I don't think that's a very good reason, " he answered seriously, butsmiling still. "Do you believe me when I tell you that I love you?"

"Why, I suppose I must, " she said, dropping her eyes. 

"Then why shouldn't I think all the more of you on account of yourfather's loss? You didn't suppose I cared for you because he wasprosperous?"

There was a shade of reproach, ever so delicate and gentle, in hissmiling question, which she felt. 

"No, I couldn't think such a thing of you. I--I don't know what Imeant. I meant that----" She could not go on and say that she had feltherself more worthy of him because of her father's money; it would nothave been true; yet there was no other explanation. She stopped, andcast a helpless glance at him. 

He came to her aid. "I understand why you shouldn't wish me to sufferby your father's misfortunes. "

"Yes, that was it; and there is too great a difference every way. Weought to look at that again. You mustn't pretend that you don't knowit, for that wouldn't be true. Your mother will never like me, andperhaps--perhaps I shall not like her. "

"Well, " said Corey, a little daunted, "you won't have to marry myfamily. "

"Ah, that isn't the point!"

"I know it, " he admitted. "I won't pretend that I don't see what youmean; but I'm sure that all the differences would disappear when youcame to know my family better. I'm not afraid but you and my motherwill like each other--she can't help it!" he exclaimed, less judiciallythan he had hitherto spoken, and he went on to urge some points ofdoubtful tenability. "We have our ways, and you have yours; and whileI don't say but what you and my mother and sisters would be a littlestrange together at first, it would soon wear off, on both sides. There can't be anything hopelessly different in you all, and if therewere it wouldn't be any difference to me. "

"Do you think it would be pleasant to have you on my side against yourmother?"

"There won't be any sides. Tell me just what it is you're afraid of. "

"Afraid?"

"Thinking of, then. "

"I don't know. It isn't anything they say or do, " she explained, withher eyes intent on his. "It's what they are. I couldn't be naturalwith them, and if I can't be natural with people, I'm disagreeable. "

"Can you be natural with me?"

"Oh, I'm not afraid of you. I never was. That was the trouble, fromthe beginning. "

"Well, then, that's all that's necessary. And it never was the leasttrouble to me!"

"It made me untrue to Irene. "

"You mustn't say that! You were always true to her. "

"She cared for you first. "

"Well, but I never cared for her at all!" he besought her. 

"She thought you did. "

"That was nobody's fault, and I can't let you make it yours. Mydear----"

"Wait. We must understand each other, " said Penelope, rising from herseat to prevent an advance he was making from his; "I want you torealise the whole affair. Should you want a girl who hadn't a cent inthe world, and felt different in your mother's company, and had cheatedand betrayed her own sister?"

"I want you!"

"Very well, then, you can't have me. I should always despise myself. I ought to give you up for all these reasons. Yes, I must. " She lookedat him intently, and there was a tentative quality in her affirmations. 

"Is this your answer?" he said. "I must submit. If I asked too muchof you, I was wrong. And--good-bye. "

He held out his hand, and she put hers in it. "You think I'mcapricious and fickle!" she said. "I can't help it--I don't knowmyself. I can't keep to one thing for half a day at a time. But it'sright for us to part--yes, it must be. It must be, " she repeated; "andI shall try to remember that. Good-bye! I will try to keep that in mymind, and you will too--you won't care, very soon! I didn't meanTHAT--no; I know how true you are; but you will soon look at medifferently; and see that even IF there hadn't been this about Irene, Iwas not the one for you. You do think so, don't you?" she pleaded, clinging to his hand. "I am not at all what they would like--yourfamily; I felt that. I am little, and black, and homely, and theydon't understand my way of talking, and now that we've losteverything--No, I'm not fit. Good-bye. You're quite right, not to havepatience with me any longer. I've tried you enough. I ought to bewilling to marry you against their wishes if you want me to, but Ican't make the sacrifice--I'm too selfish for that----" All at once sheflung herself on his breast. "I can't even give you up! I shall neverdare look any one in the face again. Go, go! But take me with you! Itried to do without you! I gave it a fair trial, and it was a deadfailure. O poor Irene! How could she give you up?"

Corey went back to Boston immediately, and left Penelope, as he must, to tell her sister that they were to be married. She was spared fromthe first advance toward this by an accident or a misunderstanding. Irene came straight to her after Corey was gone, and demanded, "Penelope Lapham, have you been such a ninny as to send that man awayon my account?"

Penelope recoiled from this terrible courage; she did not answerdirectly, and Irene went on, "Because if you did, I'll thank you tobring him back again. I'm not going to have him thinking that I'mdying for a man that never cared for me. It's insulting, and I'm notgoing to stand it. Now, you just send for him!"

"Oh, I will, 'Rene, " gasped Penelope. And then she added, shamed outof her prevarication by Irene's haughty magnanimity, "I have. Thatis--he's coming back----"

Irene looked at her a moment, and then, whatever thought was in hermind, said fiercely, "Well!" and left her to her dismay--her dismay andher relief, for they both knew that this was the last time they shouldever speak of that again. 

The marriage came after so much sorrow and trouble, and the fact wasreceived with so much misgiving for the past and future, that itbrought Lapham none of the triumph in which he had once exulted at thethought of an alliance with the Coreys. Adversity had so far been hisfriend that it had taken from him all hope of the social success forwhich people crawl and truckle, and restored him, through failure anddoubt and heartache, the manhood which his prosperity had so nearlystolen from him. Neither he nor his wife thought now that theirdaughter was marrying a Corey; they thought only that she was givingherself to the man who loved her, and their acquiescence was soberedstill further by the presence of Irene. Their hearts were far morewith her. 

Again and again Mrs. Lapham said she did not see how she could gothrough it. "I can't make it seem right, " she said. 

"It IS right, " steadily answered the Colonel. 

"Yes, I know. But it don't SEEM so. "

It would be easy to point out traits in Penelope's character whichfinally reconciled all her husband's family and endeared her to them. These things continually happen in novels; and the Coreys, as they hadalways promised themselves to do, made the best, and not the worst ofTom's marriage. 

They were people who could value Lapham's behaviour as Tom reported itto them. They were proud of him, and Bromfield Corey, who found adelicate, aesthetic pleasure in the heroism with which Lapham hadwithstood Rogers and his temptations--something finely dramatic andunconsciously effective, --wrote him a letter which would once haveflattered the rough soul almost to ecstasy, though now he affected toslight it in showing it. "It's all right if it makes it morecomfortable for Pen, " he said to his wife. 

But the differences remained uneffaced, if not uneffaceable, betweenthe Coreys and Tom Corey's wife. "If he had only married the Colonel!"subtly suggested Nanny Corey. 

There was a brief season of civility and forbearance on both sides, when he brought her home before starting for Mexico, and herfather-in-law made a sympathetic feint of liking Penelope's way oftalking, but it is questionable if even he found it so delightful asher husband did. Lily Corey made a little, ineffectual sketch of her, which she put by with other studies to finish up, sometime, and foundher rather picturesque in some ways. Nanny got on with her better thanthe rest, and saw possibilities for her in the country to which she wasgoing. "As she's quite unformed, socially, " she explained to hermother, "there is a chance that she will form herself on the Spanishmanner, if she stays there long enough, and that when she comes backshe will have the charm of, not olives, perhaps, but tortillas, whatever they are: something strange and foreign, even if it'sborrowed. I'm glad she's going to Mexico. At that distance wecan--correspond. "

Her mother sighed, and said bravely that she was sure they all got onvery pleasantly as it was, and that she was perfectly satisfied if Tomwas. 

There was, in fact, much truth in what she said of their harmony withPenelope. Having resolved, from the beginning, to make the best of theworst, it might almost be said that they were supported and consoled intheir good intentions by a higher power. This marriage had not, thanksto an over-ruling Providence, brought the succession of Lapham teasupon Bromfield Corey which he had dreaded; the Laphams were far off intheir native fastnesses, and neither Lily nor Nanny Corey was obligedto sacrifice herself to the conversation of Irene; they were not evencalled upon to make a social demonstration for Penelope at a time when, most people being still out of town, it would have been so easy; sheand Tom had both begged that there might be nothing of that kind; andthough none of the Coreys learned to know her very well in the week shespent with them, they did not find it hard to get on with her. Therewere even moments when Nanny Corey, like her father, had glimpses ofwhat Tom had called her humour, but it was perhaps too unlike their ownto be easily recognisable. 

Whether Penelope, on her side, found it more difficult to harmonise, Icannot say. She had much more of the harmonising to do, since theywere four to one; but then she had gone through so much greater trialsbefore. When the door of their carriage closed and it drove off withher and her husband to the station, she fetched a long sigh. 

"What is it?" asked Corey, who ought to have known better. 

"Oh, nothing. I don't think I shall feel strange amongst the Mexicansnow. "

He looked at her with a puzzled smile, which grew a little graver, andthen he put his arm round her and drew her closer to him. This madeher cry on his shoulder. "I only meant that I should have you all tomyself. " There is no proof that she meant more, but it is certain thatour manners and customs go for more in life than our qualities. Theprice that we pay for civilisation is the fine yet impassabledifferentiation of these. Perhaps we pay too much; but it will not bepossible to persuade those who have the difference in their favour thatthis is so. They may be right; and at any rate, the blank misgiving, the recurring sense of disappointment to which the young people'sdeparture left the Coreys is to be considered. That was the end oftheir son and brother for them; they felt that; and they were not meanor unamiable people. 

He remained three years away. Some changes took place in that time. One of these was the purchase by the Kanawha Falls Company of the minesand works at Lapham. The transfer relieved Lapham of the load of debtwhich he was still labouring under, and gave him an interest in thevaster enterprise of the younger men, which he had once vainly hoped tograsp all in his own hand. He began to tell of this coincidence assomething very striking; and pushing on more actively the specialbranch of the business left to him, he bragged, quite in his old way, of its enormous extension. His son-in-law, he said, was pushing it inMexico and Central America: an idea that they had originally had incommon. Well, young blood was what was wanted in a thing of that kind. Now, those fellows out in West Virginia: all young, and a perfect team!

For himself, he owned that he had made mistakes; he could see justwhere the mistakes were--put his finger right on them. But one thinghe could say: he had been no man's enemy but his own; every dollar, every cent had gone to pay his debts; he had come out with clean hands. He said all this, and much more, to Mr. Sewell the summer after he soldout, when the minister and his wife stopped at Lapham on their wayacross from the White Mountains to Lake Champlain; Lapham had foundthem on the cars, and pressed them to stop off. 

There were times when Mrs. Lapham had as great pride in theclean-handedness with which Lapham had come out as he had himself, buther satisfaction was not so constant. At those times, knowing thetemptations he had resisted, she thought him the noblest and grandestof men; but no woman could endure to live in the same house with aperfect hero, and there were other times when she reminded him that ifhe had kept his word to her about speculating in stocks, and had lookedafter the insurance of his property half as carefully as he had lookedafter a couple of worthless women who had no earthly claim on him, theywould not be where they were now. He humbly admitted it all, and lefther to think of Rogers herself. She did not fail to do so, and thethought did not fail to restore him to her tenderness again. 

I do not know how it is that clergymen and physicians keep from tellingtheir wives the secrets confided to them; perhaps they can trust theirwives to find them out for themselves whenever they wish. Sewell hadlaid before his wife the case of the Laphams after they came to consultwith him about Corey's proposal to Penelope, for he wished to beconfirmed in his belief that he had advised them soundly; but he hadnot given her their names, and he had not known Corey's himself. Nowhe had no compunctions in talking the affair over with her without theveil of ignorance which she had hitherto assumed, for she declared thatas soon as she heard of Corey's engagement to Penelope, the whole thinghad flashed upon her. "And that night at dinner I could have told thechild that he was in love with her sister by the way he talked abouther; I heard him; and if she had not been so blindly in love with himherself, she would have known it too. I must say, I can't help feelinga sort of contempt for her sister. "

"Oh, but you must not!" cried Sewell. "That is wrong, cruelly wrong. I'm sure that's out of your novel-reading, my dear, and not out of yourheart. Come! It grieves me to hear you say such a thing as that. "

"Oh, I dare say this pretty thing has got over it--how much charactershe has got!--and I suppose she'll see somebody else. "

Sewell had to content himself with this partial concession. As amatter of fact, unless it was the young West Virginian who had come onto arrange the purchase of the Works, Irene had not yet seen any one, and whether there was ever anything between them is a fact that wouldneed a separate inquiry. It is certain that at the end of five yearsafter the disappointment which she met so bravely, she was stillunmarried. But she was even then still very young, and her life atLapham had been varied by visits to the West. It had also been variedby an invitation, made with the politest resolution by Mrs. Corey, tovisit in Boston, which the girl was equal to refusing in the samespirit. 

Sewell was intensely interested in the moral spectacle which Laphampresented under his changed conditions. The Colonel, who was more theColonel in those hills than he could ever have been on the Back Bay, kept him and Mrs. Sewell over night at his house; and he showed theminister minutely round the Works and drove him all over his farm. Forthis expedition he employed a lively colt which had not yet come ofage, and an open buggy long past its prime, and was no more ashamed ofhis turnout than of the finest he had ever driven on the Milldam. Hewas rather shabby and slovenly in dress, and he had fallen unkempt, after the country fashion, as to his hair and beard and boots. Thehouse was plain, and was furnished with the simpler moveables out ofthe house in Nankeen Square. There were certainly all the necessaries, but no luxuries unless the statues of Prayer and Faith might be soconsidered. The Laphams now burned kerosene, of course, and they hadno furnace in the winter; these were the only hardships the Colonelcomplained of; but he said that as soon as the company got to payingdividends again, --he was evidently proud of the outlays that for thepresent prevented this, --he should put in steam heat and naphtha-gas. He spoke freely of his failure, and with a confidence that seemedinspired by his former trust in Sewell, whom, indeed, he treated likean intimate friend, rather than an acquaintance of two or threemeetings. He went back to his first connection with Rogers, and he putbefore Sewell hypothetically his own conclusions in regard to thematter. 

"Sometimes, " he said, "I get to thinking it all over, and it seems tome I done wrong about Rogers in the first place; that the whole troublecame from that. It was just like starting a row of bricks. I tried tocatch up and stop 'em from going, but they all tumbled, one afteranother. It wa'n't in the nature of things that they could be stoppedtill the last brick went. I don't talk much with my wife, any moreabout it; but I should like to know how it strikes you. "

"We can trace the operation of evil in the physical world, " replied theminister, "but I'm more and more puzzled about it in the moral world. There its course is often so very obscure; and often it seems toinvolve, so far as we can see, no penalty whatever. And in your owncase, as I understand, you don't admit--you don't feel sure--that youever actually did wrong this man----"

"Well, no; I don't. That is to say----"

He did not continue, and after a while Sewell said, with that subtlekindness of his, "I should be inclined to think--nothing can be thrownquite away; and it can't be that our sins only weaken us--that yourfear of having possibly behaved selfishly toward this man kept you onyour guard, and strengthened you when you were brought face to facewith a greater"--he was going to say temptation, but he saved Lapham'spride, and said--"emergency. "

"Do you think so?"

"I think that there may be truth in what I suggest. "

"Well, I don't know what it was, " said Lapham; "all I know is that whenit came to the point, although I could see that I'd got to go underunless I did it--that I couldn't sell out to those Englishmen, and Icouldn't let that man put his money into my business without I told himjust how things stood. "