his shrivelled little hands into her warm, comforting clasp. "Dear Uncle
Percival, I understand, and I love you," she said.




CHAPTER IV

USHERS IN THE MODERN SPIRIT


"So you have seen her," Adams had remarked the same afternoon, as he
walked with Trent in the direction of Broadway. "Do you walk up, by the
way? I always manage to get in a bit of exercise at this hour."

As Trent fell in with his companion's rapid step, he seemed to be moving
in a fine golden glow of enthusiasm. A light icy drizzle had turned the
snow upon the pavement into sloppy puddles of water, but to the young
man, fresh from his inexperience, the hour and the scene alike were of
exhilarating promise.

"I feel as if I had been breathing different air!" he exclaimed, without
replying directly to the question. "And yet how simple she is--how
utterly unlike the resplendent Mrs. Bridewell--"

He stopped breathlessly, overcome by his excitement, and Adams took up
the unfinished sentence almost tenderly. "So far, of course, she is
merely a beautiful promise, a flower in the bud," he said. "Her
genius--if she has genius--has not found itself, and the notes she
strikes are all mere groping attempts at a perfect self-expression. Yet,