left in Harrisville. The occupants of the front seats had talked in low
tones of recent society events in New York, and a little of art. Lucille
herself had dabbled in color for a term or two in a fashionable school on
the Back Bay in Boston.

The colonel had become enthusiastic in his talk about his own recent
business prosperity. Suddenly coupé and carriage stopped in front of the
main entrance of the Hotel Waldorf. How fine the detail of arch and
columns! How delicate the architect's touch of iron and glass in the
porte-cochère!

The Harris family stepped quickly into the public reception-room to the
left of the main entrance adjoining the office, leaving Jean and the
porter to bring the hand-baggage. The decorated ceiling framed a central
group of brilliant incandescent lights with globes. Leo directed
attention to the paintings on the walls, and furniture and rugs.

The colonel excused himself and passed out and into the main offices. The
sight about him was an inspiring one. The architect's wand had wrought
grace and beauty in floor, ceiling, column, and wall. Gentlemen, old and
young, were coming and going. Professional men, not a few, bankers and
business men jostled each other. Before the colonel had reached the
clerk's desk, he had apologized, twice at least, for his haste. The fact
was that metropolitan activity delighted his heart, but it disturbed just
a little his usual good behavior. Nervously, he wrote in the Waldorf
register plain Reuben Harris, wife and two daughters. He wanted to prefix
colonel. His son added his own name. Colonel Harris, at his request, was
given the best apartments in the Waldorf.

Leo excused himself for the night, Lucille saying the last words in low