Very timidly, and with awed glances, she looked around her as she was
conducted in leisurely manner to the sanctum of the great man at whose
bidding she had come. The pictures on the walls, magnificent and
impressive even to her ignorant eyes; the hardwood floors, the wonderful
furniture, the statuary and flowers, the smooth-tongued servants--all
these things were an absolute revelation to her. She had read of such
things, even perhaps dreamed of them, but she had never imagined it
possible that she herself might be brought into actual contact
with them.

At every step she took she felt her self-confidence decreasing; her
clothes, made by the village dressmaker from an undoubted French model,
with which she had been more than satisfied only a few hours ago, seemed
suddenly dowdy and ill-fashioned. She was even doubtful about her
looks, although quite half a dozen of the nicest young men in her
neighbourhood had been doing their best to make her vain since the day
when she had left college, an unusually early graduate, and returned to
her father's tiny home to become the acknowledged belle of the
neighbourhood. Here, though, she felt her looks of small avail; she
might reign as a queen in Wellham Springs, but she felt herself a very
insignificant person in the home of her uncle, the great railway
millionaire and financier, Mr. Phineas Duge. Her courage had almost
evaporated when at last, after a very careful knock at the door, an
English footman ushered her into the small and jealously guarded sanctum
in which the great man was sitting. She passed only a few steps across
the threshold, and stood there, a timid, hesitating figure, her dark
eyes very anxiously searching the features of the man who had risen from
his seat to greet her.