thought her own thoughts, and laughed.

This summer in New York was her first taste of freedom. The Chicago
capitalist, after all his arrangements were made for sailing, had been
compelled to go to Mexico to look after oil interests. His sister knew
an excellent singing master in New York. Why should not a discreet,
well-balanced girl like Miss Bower spend the summer there, studying
quietly? The capitalist suggested that his sister might enjoy a summer on
Long Island; he would rent the Griffith's place for her, with all the
servants, and Eden could stay there. But his sister met this proposal
with a cold stare. So it fell out, that between selfishness and greed,
Eden got a summer all her own,--which really did a great deal toward
making her an artist and whatever else she was afterward to become. She
had time to look about, to watch without being watched; to select
diamonds in one window and furs in another, to select shoulders and
moustaches in the big hotels where she went to lunch. She had the easy
freedom of obscurity and the consciousness of power. She enjoyed both.
She was in no hurry.

While Eden Bower watched the pigeons, Don Hedger sat on the other side of
the bolted doors, looking into a pool of dark turpentine, at his idle
brushes, wondering why a woman could do this to him. He, too, was sure of
his future and knew that he was a chosen man. He could not know, of
course, that he was merely the first to fall under a fascination which
was to be disastrous to a few men and pleasantly stimulating to many
thousands. Each of these two young people sensed the future, but not
completely. Don Hedger knew that nothing much would ever happen to him.
Eden Bower understood that to her a great deal would happen. But she did
not guess that her neighbour would have more tempestuous adventures
sitting in his dark studio than she would find in all the capitals of