Chapter VII


In the meantime, his interest in Mrs. Semple had been secretly and
strangely growing. When he received an invitation to call at the Semple
home, he accepted with a great deal of pleasure. Their house was located
not so very far from his own, on North Front Street, in the neighborhood
of what is now known as No. 956. It had, in summer, quite a wealth of
green leaves and vines. The little side porch which ornamented its south
wall commanded a charming view of the river, and all the windows and
doors were topped with lunettes of small-paned glass. The interior
of the house was not as pleasing as he would have had it. Artistic
impressiveness, as to the furniture at least, was wanting, although it
was new and good. The pictures were--well, simply pictures. There were
no books to speak of--the Bible, a few current novels, some of the more
significant histories, and a collection of antiquated odds and ends in
the shape of books inherited from relatives. The china was good--of a
delicate pattern. The carpets and wall-paper were too high in key. So it
went. Still, the personality of Lillian Semple was worth something,
for she was really pleasing to look upon, making a picture wherever she
stood or sat.

There were no children--a dispensation of sex conditions which had
nothing to do with her, for she longed to have them. She was without any
notable experience in social life, except such as had come to the Wiggin
family, of which she was a member--relatives and a few neighborhood
friends visiting. Lillian Wiggin, that was her maiden name--had two