village called Dalston, near Pittsburg, in western Pennsylvania,
where they had stopped off to manage this matter--he had said to
her: "I want to tell you, dear, that you and I are really beginning
life all over. Now it depends on how well we play this game as
to how well we succeed. If you will listen to me we won't try to
do anything much socially in Chicago for the present. Of course
we'll have to meet a few people. That can't be avoided. Mr. and
Mrs. Addison are anxious to meet you, and I've delayed too long
in that matter as it is. But what I mean is that I don't believe
it's advisable to push this social exchange too far. People are
sure to begin to make inquiries if we do. My plan is to wait a
little while and then build a really fine house so that we won't
need to rebuild. We're going to go to Europe next spring, if
things go right, and we may get some ideas over there. I'm going
to put in a good big gallery," he concluded. "While we're traveling
we might as well see what we can find in the way of pictures and
so on."

Aileen was thrilling with anticipation. "Oh, Frank," she said to
him, quite ecstatically, "you're so wonderful! You do everything
you want, don't you?"

"Not quite," he said, deprecatingly; "but it isn't for not wanting
to. Chance has a little to say about some of these chings, Aileen."

She stood in front of him, as she often did, her plump, ringed
hands on his shoulders, and looked into those steady, lucid
pools--his eyes. Another man, less leonine, and with all his
shifting thoughts, might have had to contend with the handicap of
a shifty gaze; he fronted the queries and suspicions of the world