of claimants, George Harpwood is in command of the situation.

When a man cultured in all the arts that please, gives himself to the
fascinating of a particular person, male or female, that man does not
often fail. Where the prize is five millions he ought to play his
highest trumps.

This is what George Harpwood has done. Sometimes he has paused to
admire his own unselfishness. Sometimes, after a drenching on account
of the David Lockwin Annex--a costly fabric--Mr. Harpwood marvels that
men should be created so for the solace of widows! The other ladies
show their discontent. Fortunes are on every hand, and Esther is like
Niobe, all tears. Why does Harpwood turn all tears, weeping for
Lockwin? This causes Harpwood to be himself astonished.

It is only genius that can adapt itself to an environment so
lugubrious. It is only genius that can unhorse suspicion itself,
leaving even the would-be detractor to admit that Mr. Harpwood is a
kind man--as he certainly is.

"Who would not be kind for five millions?" he asks, yet he the next
moment may deny that he wants the five millions.

It is a fine fortitude that George Harpwood can show upon occasion. It
was he who, lost in the opium habit, went to his room for two weeks,
and kept the pieces of opium and bottles of morphine within sight on
his mantel, touching none of the drug--curing himself.

He could serve Esther as long as Jacob served Laban. He could end by
the conquest of himself. While he shall be doubtful of his own