husband. The two brown stone houses were almost within arm's reach of
each other. She had painted dainty water colors for his rooms and he had
thrown thousands of roses from his windows into her boudoir. It had been
a merry courtship--the courtship of modern cavalier and lady fair.
Ridgeway's parents died when he was in college, and he was left to
enlarge or despise a fortune that rated him as a millionaire and the
best catch in town--at that time.

He was a member of the Board of Trade, but he was scarcely an operator
in the strictest sense of the word. If he won he whistled, if he lost he
whistled. It mattered little. Good looking, well dressed, generous to a
fault, tainted but moderately with scandal, he was a man whom everybody
admired, but who admired few in return--a perfectly natural and proper
condition if one but stops to consider.

Miss Vernon was beautiful--of that there was no question. Tall, fair,
brown-eyed and full of the life that loves, she ruled the hearts of many
and--kept her hand for one. Her short, gay life had been one of luxury
and ease. She had known few of its cares; its vicissitudes belonged to
the charities she supported with loyal persistency. Her aunt, society
mad, was her only mentor, her only guide. A path had been made for her,
and she saw no other alternative than to travel it as designed. A
careless, buoyant heart, full of love and tenderness and warmth, allowed
itself to be tossed by all of the emotions, but always sank back safely
into the path of duty and rectitude. It was not of sufficient moment to
combat her aunt's stubborn authority; it was so much easier to do her
own sweet will without conflict and then smile down on the consequences.

Possibly it is true that she did not love her aunt. If that were the
case, she kept it well to herself. She could not have been blamed,