force, gave unconscious authority to his countenance. He was tall and
with so apparent a strength in his shoulders as to suggest the thought
that with them he had shoved his way to success. He was erect and
walked with a firm step; he wore a heavy grayish mustache that turned
under; his chin had a forceful squareness; he was thin-haired, nearing
baldness. In his manner was a sort of firm affability, and his voice
was of that tone which success nearly always assumes, kindly, but with
a suggestion of impatience. His eyes were restless, as though
accustomed to keep watch over many things. When spoken to it was his
habit to turn quickly, and if occasion so warranted, to listen with
that pleasing though frosty smile which to the initiated means, "I
shall be terribly bored by any request that you may make, and shall
therefore be compelled to refuse it." He was sometimes liberal, though
rarely generous. If he showed that a large disaster touched his heart,
he could not conceal the fact that a lesser mishap simply fell upon
his irritated nerves; and therefore he might contribute to a stricken
city while refusing to listen to the distress of a family.

Mrs. Witherspoon was a dark-eyed little woman. In her earlier life she
must have been handsome, for in the expression of her face there was a
reminiscence of beauty. Her dimples had turned traitor to youth and
gossiped of coming age. Women are the first to show the contempt with
which wealth regards poverty, the first to turn with resentment upon
former friends who have been left in the race for riches, the first to
feel the overbearing spirit that money stirs; but this woman had not
lost her gentleness.

The girl was about nineteen years of age. She was a picture of style,
delsarted to ease of motion. She was good-looking and had the whims
and the facial tricks that are put to rhyme and raved over in a