on this chill October night, as hospitable in appearance as it was
inside; there was hardly a window which did not glow with a mellow
light. As Richard drove down the street, he was recalling vividly the
picture of the friendly-looking hall with its faded Turkey carpet worn
with the tread of many rushing feet, its atmosphere of welcoming
warmth--and the rose-hued scarf flung over the dull masculine belongings
as if typifying the fashion in which the women of the household cast
their bright influence over the men.

It suddenly occurred to Richard Kendrick that if he had lived in such a
home even until he went away to school, if he had come back to such a
home from college and from the wanderings over the face of the earth
with which he had filled in his idle days since college was over, he
should be perhaps a better, surely a different, man than he was now.

* * * * *

Louis Gray, coming into the hall precisely as Richard Kendrick, again
enveloped in his muddy motoring coat, was releasing Judge Gray's hand
and disappearing into the night, looked curiously after the departing
figure. His sister Roberta, following him into the hall a moment after,
rose-coloured scarf still drifting across white-clad shoulder, was in
time to receive his comment:

"Seems rather odd to see that chap departing humbly by any door but the
front one."

"You knew him, then. Who was he?" inquired his sister.

"Didn't you? He's a familiar figure enough about town. Why, he's Rich